Remember Me
by mistamie
Summary: Alfred makes a horrible wish in anger that actually comes true, pulling him and Arthur apart.  Can love survive all?  USUK
1. Chapter 1

**Hetalia sadly isn't mine**

Alfred stormed out of the house, his angry stomping followed by a yell of anger from inside. The American slammed the ornate wood door behind him in response, swearing loudly. Way to go, Arthur. Way to go.

Arthur had arrived that morning, come to spend time with him before the meeting in New York, a week to themselves, and already within four hours, they had gotten into a big argument...over shoes and where they go in the house, or something, Alfred wasn't even sure what it was about anymore, but his rage prevented him from seeing it was about absolutely nothing, and his pride kept him from returning to his house.

His feet slapped the stairs of his porch, and he stalked angrily down the country road that led to his Virginia home, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his bomber jacket, well worn with the years.

"Damn it, Arthur…" He walked for several miles before coming upon the little playground that still stood near the one room schoolhouse that a group of Amish people used down the road. Seeing an old wooden bench, he went over and sat down, fuming still.

"Your always doing this, 'don't forget that', 'what have I told you', 'why can't you remember anything I've taught you'?" Alfred sneered angrily at his cheesy impression of Arthur. "God, Arthur, you know it always comes down to me remembering everything, doesn't it, what, with how we do things, where we eat, how I freaking drive! Well, I wish I couldn't remember you, or the rest of those stupid countries! All of you stuck up…How wonderful it would be, to start over, not having to worry about how I act, who I meet with, what work I have to get done before I can go off for the day to do anything…Just to live a normal human life!" His determined face lit up, but he started at the cough that he heard next to him.

Sitting there, on the bench next to him, was a woman in a flowing white dress which fluttered around her slim frame, her long brown hair whipping behind her in the breeze, her pale, beautiful face shinning in the sunlight of the summer's day. Her green eyes flashed with something unreadable as she stared out into the surrounding country of green. How had she gotten there? What had she heard?

"Love truly is a battlefield at times." Her voice was eerie and enchanting, and Alfred found he suddenly couldn't move. She was beautiful, yes, but not enough to prevent his arm from coming adjust his glasses like he was having issues with now…

"I don't think I ever mentioned…" She, and the mysterious force that now forced him to sit up fully erect, cut him off.

"Alfred," His mouth flew open, another indignant question on his lips when he suddenly couldn't speak. "You speak openly about wishing away your love for Arthur and getting rid of those you love and care for. Can your love be really true? Why do you deserve something some of us can never have?" She hadn't turned to him the entire time, simply staring down the dirt road that went on for miles in rural Virginia countryside, a tear rolling down her cheek, her green eyes shimmering. "Well, I guess we'll have to find out, now won't we…I'll grant your wish…"

Alfred still was stock straight on the bench, realizing that some unseen force this woman possessed was doing this to him. He tried to squeak out in protest, but her unreadable face simply curled into a bittersweet smile.

"I used to know a love like yours, but he was taken away in a horrible war. He fought for his freedom, for his dream, for the cause, but it was all taken from him, and then, two years later, from the rest of us around here. To think I would die in childbirth to another man, one I didn't love and had married only to get over the grief…along with my child that was not made out of love. How fitting, to die in the betrayal of my heart's dearest."

"Wars take away love. That is why love is a battlefield. Hopefully, in the end, you will realize why I am doing this, so you will never toss love aside, and will hold each day dear that you share, as I do now, although I am dead. I only make this wish come true, but do not give up hope, you are never on your own." With that, she smiled, and vanished, and Alfred, getting the feeling back in his body, blacked out.

RM

He awoke around the time the sun was starting to set in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Arthur would be worried when he wasn't back on time…

Arthur! He still remembered! So the ghost lady was…a dream? She must have been a figment of his over stimulated imagination. But he usually dreamed about Super Heroes and damsels, not sad stories about women who died in childbirth…. the cause, freedom, she'd said…she must have been talking about the Civil War…that is, _he'd_ dreamed that. Yep. Dreamed. I mean, he still remembered everything, Arthur, Mattie, all those guys.

He got up, and stretched. His limbs ached from sleeping on that bench. He started for his house, not remembering why he had come out here…no…he would recall it, and he was just a little foggy from sleep.

He'd remember eventually…he hoped.

RM

Arthur was sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch, a worried look plain on his face. Alfred felt all his feelings from before disappear, and let the love of his Arthur simply overtake him.

When Arthur finally saw him in the diming light, he let out a relieved sigh, running down the steps and into Alfred's open arms, both holding tightly onto each other, never wanting to let go.

"I'm sorry, Luv. I snapped at you for no reason. Can't we just put this behind us? Forget about it?" Arthur looked anxiously into his lover's face, not wanting to feel the white hot fury of those blue eyes once more.

"Already have. What were we fighting about?" Alfred shrugged it off as a joke. Arthur was _not_ to know of his strange dream. He'd start on his whole fairy spiel, about how they were all around Alfred. Or he'd just freak out about the whole "forgetting thing"…or be hurt by his wish…

No, he'd just keep it to himself…I mean, what was the worst that could happen? It's not like wishes like that ever came true…

**Author's Note: WOOT! HERE WE GO AGAIN!**

**Story was inspired by "Think of Me" From Phantom of the Opera, which I am quite the fan of.**

**USUK, of course.**

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE!**

**Fun Fact: On a military ship, the officer under the captain is called the "Executive Officer" (lol, in the car, this is what my dad calls me when he wants me to get out and throw something away or ride home with a bag of food on my lap). The "XO" as it was abbreviated on his helmet, took over the ship when the captain slept or died. **

**No idea how long this will be, but more than four chapters...**

**mistamie over and out!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Ok, I'm putting this up here because I'm a chatterbox and distract people with my rambling...ok, short... here goes...short.**

**SORRY FOR POSTING ONE CHAPTER THEN NOT UPDATING AS FAST AS I USUALLY DO! I had a wedding to go to...the bride had the same name as me, and I have a rare name, so I kept looking around every time someone called her name. It was weird. DAMN, I'M RAMBLING...sorry.**

**HERE IS STORY. WILL SHUT UP. HETALIA ISN'T MINE. UNABASHED GONE WITH THE WIND REFERENCE!**

Alfred woke up the next morning beside Arthur, and felt the warm sun on his face, loving the feel of the golden beams on his skin. He wrapped his arm around Arthur next to him, holding him close. A pair of lips kissed his lips gently.

"Good Morning, Luv." Alfred buried his smiling face into Arthur's shoulder, and felt a hand run through and stroke his hair. He inhaled Arthur's lovely scent of Earl Grey and fresh rain.

Alfred pulled his head away to return the greeting. "Mornin'."

"You still up for today?" Arthur asked, running a finger over Alfred's cheek.

"Today?" Alfred groggily rolled back over to stare at the ceiling, still with an arm around Arthur.

"Yes, we talked about it last night…we were going to get up early and head into Washington D.C. for the farmer's market…"

"Oh…what I remember was an amazing night last night…"

"I don't know why I have these conversations with you before we have sex, because you never remember afterwards." Alfred stiffened.

_You speak openly about wishing away your love…_

Alfred never had trouble forgetting things, so Arthur didn't seemed worried, just _amused_ by the whole thing. The thing was…Usually Alfred could _recall_ these conversations once he was reminded…but all he remembered was this bedroom last night…at least he remembered that.

Alfred sat at the breakfast table, reading the paper, when Arthur walked in, Alfred's too large bathrobe around him, opening different cabinets up above.

"What we having, Artie?" Alfred grinned up at him, his current anxiety abating at the moment.

"It's _what ARE we having, Arthur,_ and the answer is the same as what we had yesterday morning." Alfred paled as Arthur turned away to the fridge. Oh god…what did they have for breakfast? Iggy's cooking? Cereal?

Alfred had a bowl and spoon placed in front of him. Then Arthur took out a box.

"Oh, right, cereal." Alfred smiled in relief at the box in Arthur's hand. Phew...

"No, Alfred, I was going to make some more oatmeal…you don't have any cereal in the cupboard…you didn't have any yesterday either…" Arthur gave him a confused look.

"Oh, sorry, it is too early for this!" Alfred laughed it off nervously, and Arthur sent a concerned glance his way, but then turned back to the oatmeal he was ruining, sighing.

RM

They climbed into the car, Alfred starting the engine. He pulled out of the driveway, and looked around confused.

"Where is your rental car?"

Arthur looked at him funny. "I don't a rental car this time…you insisted on picking me up, and said we didn't need a rental car, so that way we'd get more time together." He paused, a worried expression knitting his giant eyebrows together. "Luv, are you ok?" Alfred felt the worried hand on his forehead, and instantly felt his guilt increase.

_Why can't I remember? It wasn't a dream, was it…oh god, oh god, oh god….and if Arthur ever finds out why this is happening…he would be so hurt…what have I done?_

"I'm perfectly fine. Must be coming down with something…maybe the stock market was a bit down this morning!" The younger nation tried not to wince as his voice cracked. He sped up a little, trying to get off the subject by having Arthur get distracted. He'd rather have Arthur focusing on his "bad, bloody, backwards" driving.

If Arthur wasn't distracted, he didn't show it, just turning away from Alfred to look out the window. The American slowed down a bit, but felt bad for keeping the secret immediately, and knew how Arthur must feel like Alfred didn't want to share his problems with him…

Arthur finally started the conversation once more as they got closer to D.C., and were caught in traffic.

"Did…did you enjoy the movie last night?" Arthur was looking at his feet.

Alfred smiled as a memory of the two of them on the couch floated up into his mind. He had this one. He didn't notice the look of pure nervousness on Arthur's face…

"Of course! That movie is a classic, and pure American! _Gone With the Wind_ is an amazing movie!" Arthur stiffened next to him, a look of pure horror stretching across his face. Alfred looked over and caught the tail end of it as the Brit vainly tried to hide it.

"What? Did you not enjoy it as well? So what I fit is a bit long? Or was it too American…or too old…?" Alfred couldn't imagine what the look was for…he'd mightily enjoyed the movie last night, the memory being thankfully clear in his mind, giving him some belated relief.

"Alfred…luv, I—I don't know what to say…" Arthur was staring intently at his hands.

"Artie, is something wrong?"

"Alfred, we didn't watch a movie last night…We watched that movie two months ago…" The cars now were moving forward, but Alfred just sat there, horror stricken. Horns blared around him.

_I'll grant your wish…_

RM

They sat there in the parking lot of the farmer's market for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of silence. Arthur was trying to hold back tears, while Alfred was trying not to have a panic attack.

"Alfred…"

"I should never…" Alfred cut himself off, and once more held the silence.

"What?" Arthur looked at him. "What should you never?"

Alfred sighed. He couldn't hurt Arthur. He couldn't.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur…You were right, I am just a bloody stupid American…" Alfred got out of the car, and started to walk waveringly away, the enormity of what he'd done setting in. He threw the keys to an emotionally overworked Arthur, who made no attempt to catch them, letting them land before him on the ground.

Alfred only got a few more steps before the panic in him escalated so high, he turned quickly back at Arthur, the need to be held like a child overpowering.

He ran into Arthur's arms, crying like the child he felt like inside.

"I l-love you, Arthur…but I've done a horrible, horrible thing…I'm so sorry…so, so sorry…" Arms wrapped around him, a soothing kiss, unconditional love…the same love Alfred had foolishly wished away…

"Just tell me what you did, Alfred. Whatever you did, we'll get through it, we'll do this together…just let me in…"

Alfred kissed Arthur full on the lips once, trying to enjoy Arthur's love like this one last time before he ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Remember when I stalked off yesterday afternoon?"

"Y-yes?" Arthur pulled back to look at Alfred, seeing the pain clearly etched on his love's face.

"Arthur, there was…I was mad…there was this beautiful lady…I had no idea…"

Arthur felt a bit on confusion and relief flood his system. "So…you cheated on me with a beautiful woman because you were mad…and the stress about it has caused you to have a selective memory?" Arthur was praying that the guilt about this was the case. He was going to be hurt if this was true, sure, but Alfred seemed to be horrified beyond belief about all this, and was apparently willing to talk and plead forgiveness…and Arthur would forgive him…he loved Alfred, after all.

Alfred had been the most faithful of any of his past partners…a painful memory ran through his head of how his long ago French romance ended…with him coming home from the celebration after the fight with the Spanish Armada.

England had arrived home to find France, his lover at the time…with the Spaniard… in his own bed…That defeat had outweighed the victory of the armada in his mind…or it had until Alfred had appeared…and also was the reason Spain was so upset about his Armada, because England made sure Antonio had to be carried out of that bed…which he later burned. If Alfred had cheated on him…with a human woman in a time of weakness…Arthur found that he could deal with it. He looked up at Alfred, trying to send a look of forgiveness. His face faltered at the sight of Alfred's.

"Arthur, I didn't cheat on you…"

Arthur twitched…"What the hell was the whole "I was mad, beautiful woman" speech about then?"

Alfred took a shaky breath. "You believe in magic, that I know, but I also know you don't believe in ghosts…"

Arthur said nothing, waiting for Alfred to continue.

"I was angry, and I said…I wished for something horrible…and then, there was this woman, and I couldn't move, and she started talking about love lost… and about granting my wish…"

"Alfred…" Arthur received no answer. "Alfred, what did you wish…" Alfred was now purposely avoiding his eyes. Arthur grabbed his head and forced the younger nation to look him in the face.

Alfred pulled away, not able to look into Arthur's eyes any longer.

"I wished to not remember…" He couldn't continue…he couldn't hurt Arthur…

"Not remember? You mean the argument…the night? Alfred, that isn't something to get so worked up about…"

"I wished to not remember you…" It was said in a whisper, but to Arthur, it was as loud as thunder, allowing for nothing else to be heard.

_I wished to not remember you…_

**REVIEW AND I'LL MENTION YOU IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! PLEASE!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry, exams are a severe ass pain...here it is! ug...bedtime...**

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE! PLEASE! Thanks to 13pinklizard, InsaneNicEly, Alphine, karatekid369, watchulla, foreversnowynights, ColdWarEmbraces...**

**STORY!**

After he'd confessed to Arthur, the arms that had been holding him dropped away. Arthur had given him a look of such hurt that Alfred had to look away, and had put his hands in his pocket, and shuffled over to a park bench. Arthur stiffly walked away from him, grabbing his "eco-friendly" bag as he did, heading off to do what they'd planned to do together. Alfred wasn't going to follow him, wasn't going to push it.

Arthur had thought he was cheating on him, but this…Alfred didn't know if they could handle this together, like Arthur had said. The look on Arthur's face, well, it was so depressing and heart wrenching, Alfred wanted to punch himself. If only he'd kept his mouth shut, had more patience, stayed and worked it out with Arthur, they'd have been enjoying themselves, picking out fresh produce that Arthur seemed to like to pick out just to ruin later that evening…but they'd always done it together.

How could have he been so stupid? "Lady, if you can hear me, I get it! Please, stop this! I take back my wish! Are you trying to ruin my life? I get it; I made a mistake! Just because you had an unhappy life, please, don't take this out on Arthur! He doesn't deserve any of this! Come on! Help ME!" Alfred knew he probably looked like a lunatic, talking to thin air, trying to right something no one would believe was ever wronged in the beginning. No one but Arthur would have understood.

Alfred never was a believer in 'magic'. Ghosts, sure as hell they were real, but magic? Since when had anyone he'd known turned into a frog? But this experience, which he had first classified as a dream, this was real. Alfred found himself, as he sat there, not being able to remember what he'd done the past week. Had he and Arthur done any lovemaking last night that he didn't remember? What had they had for dinner? What had they spoken of?

Alfred blinked, and realized he was on a park bench. How had he gotten there? Where was Arthur? Why weren't they in the car?

He was about to stand up, when he realized there was a book on his lap. This was something he knew he didn't remember having or ever owning.

It was a brown, leather bound notebook, worn with age, the pages uneven and a faded yellow. Curiously, Alfred picked up the small tome. He opened it to the first page.

_Charlotte Johnston_

_I have decided, as of today, I will start to chronicle my life, so that when I am old, I can look back and remember these days._

Alfred looked down at the scrawl on the paper. It was like he could hear young girl in his head, as if she were reading the words excitedly off the page, like they did in the movies with letters and crap. He turned the page.

_June 11, 1860_

_Today, a strange man has come into town. He's a southern boy, through and through, and you won't guess what he did! He walked right up to me and said if he wasn't mistaken, he'd just found the prettiest southern belle the south had ever did seen! He's so charming, his brown curly hair, his strong face…Marie Portman was so jealous! His family is…_

Alfred kept reading, or rather, listening to the story before him. It was like he was dragged into the story.

_Alfred looked around and saw a beautiful young girl, almost a woman, and a semi-ruggish man, his head bowed, his hat in his hand. From what Alfred could see, the man was a southern gentleman, his posture perfect, his voice smooth, his clothes, although for traveling, still elegant, his day old beard hardly acceptable, but still handsome on his chin. Alfred watched the two of them, but soon his eyes wandered around him, seeing a southern town around him, the wood buildings bringing a certain nostalgia to mind. This truly was right before the Civil War. _

_He was about to take a step, when the world and scenery started to spin around him._

_Now he was in a dark back garden, watching as the girl he remembered from the first scene stepped off the back porch of a manor house, the light out of the large windows shinning down on her. That was when Alfred noticed something. In this one, she was older. Her long brown hair streaked behind her as she ran, her skirts gathered in her hands._

"_Stuart! Stuart! Are you out there?" Alfred ran, following the girl. _

_She was about a year or two older, and was starting to look very familiar. He watched as she looked back, through him, to the manor house, as if checking something._

_A man stepped out from the row of hedges. "Charlotte…" It was the man from before, except cleaned up, his eyes sparkling in the dark. "Charlotte, my time is short here, you know the company is leaving tomorrow. We got tah protect the homeland from the Yanks. You know about my dreams…our dreams…"_

"_Stuart, must you go? Papa, I know he doesn't want us seeing each other, but…I'm sure maybe I could talk him into getting you switched into the home militia…"_

"_Charlotte, I have to protect the Confederacy. Jefferson Davis is counting on us…" They talked more, she, pleading, he, explaining why he had to go. Finally, he took her hands._

"_Charlotte, please, wait for me! Please…I don't know how long I will be gone, but will you marry me? I have but no ring to give you, but will you make this promise?"_

"_Stuart, you know I have led on no other beau since you…and I will lead on no other. Please, one kiss…to seal the deal…"_

_They kissed passionately, and Alfred started to get the urge to call Hollywood, but there was a sudden stirring in his mind. The woman who granted his wish flashed before his eyes. How could he have forgotten about his problem? It made him wonder why he was where he was…_how did I get here?

"_I loved him…so very much. Young, foolish, in love…they all are the same thing. Trouble." Alfred spun around. The woman who'd granted his wish stood there, her face pained as she looked upon the scene before them._

_The world spun away from the couple, and the brown haired woman in the white dress now had brought him to an upstairs room in the manor house._

_On the bed, Charlotte sat, her hand over her mouth, the black lined letter a clear testament to what had happened. "Stuart…no…" A woman came up next to her, and sat down._

"_Darling, I know how he was your beau…"_

"_Mother, we were _engaged!_ My god…he's never coming back! My Stuart!" The older woman's face contorted into something describable as fury_

"_It is a good thing your father will never hear about this engagement, young lady! You are promised to Mr. Wilson's son over three months ago!" Alfred winced at the cruelty behind the woman's words._

"_My mother, Victoria Johnston. She was an impatient woman. I was married a year and a half later; my new beau's courting awkward and slow. But I was a rich man's daughter, and he, a rich man's son. He wanted me for his wife, and his father made sure he got it. I died in childbirth for his child, soon after the south lost the fight for the cause. I never forgave my parents for forcing me into the marriage."_

"_What does this have anything to do with…"_

"_Alfred Jones, I am giving you the help you asked for. DO NOT ARGUE! I cannot take it back, I cannot make you remember, I cannot rewind time, or I would have. Mr. Jones, I give you my journal. It is yours. This is your help. Make with it what you can. It could be the thing that cures you. You've seen what power it has. I can do no more."_

_Alfred felt himself being pulled back from the book, _and found himself sitting on the bench, the journal open in his lap. The pages started to flutter, the book snapping closed. Coughing due to the dust sprayed into his face, he opened it once more…only to see that the name in the journal wasn't Charlotte Johnston.

_Alfred F. Jones_

_I have decided, as of today, I will start to chronicle my life, so that when I can no longer remember, I can look back and remember these days._

All the pages that were filled with Charlotte's cursive handwriting from over 150 years ago were gone, leaving room for his own writing, as if they were never there.

"Alfred, what is that?"

Alfred's head shot up, Arthur now standing right in front of him, a bag of groceries in one hand, a sad expression on his face. _This is your help…_

"It is my journal. I'm going to…er…write down each day what has happened. That way…um…we can see how fast my downturn is going to happen…and in hopes that this isn't the end, but rather just a bump on the highway of—"

"Let's go home, Alfred. I'm tired, and I need to think about this and what spell will cure this…"

Alfred got up, the book in his hands, not making any comments about Arthur's magic, wanting to make his lover happy, and to give himself his own little bit of hope.

He looked down at the journal…

_This is your help. Make with it what you can. It could be the thing that cures you…_

**_There will be more...wait_ there we go...no more slantey words! Anyway, more iggy feelings in the next chapters...this one was Alfred central. REVIEW AND U WILL BE MENTIONED!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okies, so this one took a Long time, but it is the longest chapter I've ever written for a multi-chapter story. So enjoy! I also got bored late at night, so now I have uploaded videos on my youtube account. I'm mistamie96.**

**http: / / www. youtube . com / user / mistamie96 ? feature = mhee Yep, remove spaces. they are amv videos.**

**Anyway, here is the chapter.**

_Okay, first entry. 'kay…what to write…_

_Well, um…here goes._

_So, after making a horrible wish two days ago, I have _literally _started losing my mind…like, my memory, and it is selective…I may be able to remember where I put the keys, but not what Arthur's phone number is…and Iggy…well, I'm not so sure how he's taking this…he hasn't said much of anything lately…_

Arthur sat there, looking anywhere but Alfred, who was across the room, writing in that little book. He just couldn't really believe this.

He remembered how he'd walked away from Alfred to go into the farmer's market. The hurt…it had pierced him to the bone. He'd not wanted to believe anything was wrong, that Alfred was being forgetful… or that he'd cheated…he'd been in denial, claiming that the guilt was causing him to forget….c'mon, who was he kidding? What cheater lost their memories? And _Alfred?_

Alfred, the child who'd broke the barriers around his heart, his innocence and caring taming the pirate in him, his place for solace. Alfred, the boy who'd fought for his freedom, twice, now that he thought about it, once in the revolutionary war and then again in the war of 1812…the revenge war, as England saw it…when he couldn't understand how America was doing so well…on his own, without England, the thing Alfred had told him was holding him back…

Alfred, the man he'd pined after for years. The man who'd gotten drunk one night before Arthur had gotten to the bar to share drinks with him…who had grabbed Arthur by the collar and kissed him as passionately as any drunk man could. And Arthur had kissed him back, unashamed…till Alfred passed out against him.

Arthur still remembered the next morning, when Alfred had woken up on Arthur's couch, his hangover immense. Arthur had tried a subtle approach that morning.

* * *

><p>"<em>You do very strange things when you're drunk."<em>

Alfred had looked at him, sorely puzzled, a look of pain and fogginess dulling those beautiful blue eyes. "_What did I do? I don't recall anything."_

"_Oh, you rambled on and on…and then you…um…"_ England had thought of that kiss, remembering how he had felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, and how he'd turned almost as red as Lovino. Alfred, for once, noticed…and dammit, he was hungover!

"_Oh god, whatever I did, I am so sorry, Iggy! You know I would never hurt you…you mean too much to me…" _Alfred then promptly turned red himself, the hangover making it so the words he was saying had never even taken a pit-stop at his brain. The worst kind of word vomit.

Arthur had snapped around. "_What? Alfred, it sounded like you ju—"_

"_I love you…, ok! There, I said it! Whatever I did, whatever unwanted advances I made, I am truly sorry…I probably ruined last night…you don't return the feelings, you—"_

"_Alfred, you just kissed me, then passed out cold. No harm done. It was a pleasant exchange…you practice kissing?" _Arthur had a smug grin on his face, watching as Alfred processed everything at half speed. _"Anyway, if you had ruined last night, you just made it ten times better with those precious three little words…"_

* * *

><p>Arthur remembered it all fondly, a sad smile coming to his face. Alfred still loved him…had always loved him, his love simply changing over the years.<p>

But Alfred had turned his back on this love, even for a moment… Alfred, who was over there, now asleep, the book open in his lap. He found himself kissing Alfred on the forehead, before standing up, but not before he read the open page.

_I'm not sure if Arthur will ever forgive me for what I've done…but I would take this back in a heartbeat…I'm a horrible partner…maybe she was right…love is a battlefield, we always must fight for it…and for Arthur, I'd fight the hardest…_

Arthur smiled a bittersweet smile, having to turn away, the tears now coming to his face.

He quickly walked away from the sleeping American, up to their room, sitting on the bed. The sobs ripped out of his throat.

It had been a long time since he'd last cried, thinking his tear ducts had long ago shriveled and gone with the end of the blitz…and it was then, at eleven o'clock that night, that he realized that no matter what was going to happen, he was going to try his best to help Alfred, to save him or to at least let him go in peace. He was going to have the patience of a monk, something, even as a gentleman, he'd never mastered. But he would for Alfred.

He loved Alfred, and although they weren't married, and couldn't be married, till death do they part had always been a clear thing in his mind towards Alfred. He was going to take care of Alfred in sickness as he had in health. He was going to do this.

Wiping the tears away, he got up, and went downstairs to get Alfred to come upstairs to bed. He was going to make Alfred happy through this all, or at least try his darnedest.

* * *

><p>"Alfred, spoons are in that drawer."<p>

"Right, thanks Arthur! What are we having for dinner?" Arthur felt a wave of sadness flood over him. This was the third or fourth time he'd been asked this question, Alfred not retaining it.

Alfred could be extremely clear and responsive, or he could be as he was now, wandering around the kitchen looking for spoons when they were having pizza delivered, and Arthur had asked him repeatedly to come and sit down on the couch with him.

"Alfred, we don't need spoons…" His American walked out of the kitchen, a look of lost on his face.

"Is this my house?" Alfred looked at him curiously, and Arthur stiffened. A light was gone from Alfred's eyes.

"Of course it is. What made you think any different?"

"I don't remember being friends with any British people. What is your name?" Arthur felt his heart tear at the seams.

"Alfred, its me, Arthur! Don't you remember?" Arthur walked up to Alfred and took his hands. Alfred made no move to reject him, so Arthur stood on his tippy-toes and kissed Alfred's cheek. "My god…please remember me… I can't lose you yet…"

Arthur had tried everything in his spell books, staying up late every night. He'd gone through everything, curse removal, memory renewal, luck…nothing seemed to work. If he were to lose Alfred now, without time to figure something else out…he didn't know what he'd do.

Arthur felt Alfred pull his hands back out of Arthur's loose grip, but to his surprise, felt an arm snake around his back and pull him tightly into Alfred, pressing him flush against the tall American's body. The other hand took hold of his chin, pulling his head up to look into Alfred's blue eyes, which were now once more bright and glowing.

"Beautiful, kind Arthur. How could I have ever made such a wish? Arthur, I never should have had that stupid argument with you about shoes…" Alfred pulled Arthur into a kiss that was passionate and desperate before Arthur stiffened with a gasp.

"Alfred, you told me you couldn't remember what we argued about…"

"Shh…Arthur, I have no idea what has happened since then…this moment might not last long. Oh, Arthur, there have been so many things that I have wanted to say to you…I have been trapped in my own mind for the past five days…that journal, it is the only way I can make sure to say everything that I must. I love you Arthur…don't you ever forget it…but when I'm gone—"

"Alfred, you aren't going anywhere…"

"Arthur, we both know a lie when we see one. Arthur, if I am no more…I want you to move on. No matter what, your happiness is all I care for. Please, promise me to watch over everyone I can't when I'm gone…"

"I love you Alfred! I don't want you to go! We'll find a way! You'll see!" Alfred reached up and wiped a tear from Arthur's face as he broke down and buried his head into Alfred's chest.

"Don't live in the past when I'm gone…" Arthur held onto Alfred with all his might. This was his Alfred, from before all this happened. He looked up once more to see Alfred look up at the door, the doorbell ringing a second later.

"Ooh! Pizza! I love pizza! Pay the man, Igg!" And like that he was gone, a stranger left behind in his place.

* * *

><p>"Ok, Alfred, you know where we're going, yes?"<p>

"The world meeting…yeah Arthur. And you know not to mention anything to anyone…" Alfred was mostly there right now, but not as he was two nights ago. Alfred had been telling him not to tell anyone, because they'd think him weak. Arthur hoped Alfred would stay this clear for the meeting, it would save them both pain.

They walked into the conference room together, Alfred looking around him, that leather book held tightly to his chest.

Arthur had started clipping little notes into the pages opposite Alfred's entries, little pictures, a sentiment, stories…like how they'd met, when they'd gotten together, how he loved him. Alfred hadn't said anything, but he'd noticed Alfred's shocked expression, and the occasional tear, wondering if it was because of what he'd wrote, or the fact that maybe Alfred could no longer remember what he was talking about. That journal went everywhere with Alfred.

They walked the corridors, Alfred straying a few times, forgetting the way, Arthur there to tug him back. Alfred would just smile, then walk on.

They finally reached the conference room, Arthur turning to check Alfred over, fixing his tie and smoothing down his hair, avoiding Nantucket. Then, after giving himself a once over, he opened the conference door, grabbing Alfred's hand as he went, making sure he was following.

Almost everyone was already in there, sitting in their seats or having conversations near the front of the room. Sighing at the amount of people in the room, he tugged Alfred to two empty seats next to each other that had their names on them.

"Hon hon hon! We've let Arthur become the dominant partner in the relationship, oui?" Arthur's annoyance levels shot way up. France wasn't going to live in his skin much longer.

"You litt—"

"Bonjour, monsieur! Tu parles anglais bien! Are you from Fr—" Alfred was quickly elbowed in the ribs, and he gave a cough. _Damn, he didn't recognize France…does he even recognize anyone but me?_

"Amérique, what wonderful language you speak! Do you use the langue d'amour to speak to Arthur? So kinky of you…" France was cut off by a fist in the face as Arthur let go in a fit of anger. _How dare he take advantage of Alfred like that, even if he doesn't know about the condition. His French face is annoying enough to make this justified!_

Alfred looked questionably at Arthur, who simply pointed at his seat, and Alfred sat down. France got up from the floor and walked away to his seat, seeing as Germany must have had a hand in the seating, putting him between Italy and Spain…and far away from Arthur.

England looked down at a confused Alfred, and feeling bad for him, opened up the little journal, found pictures of the countries and wrote down explanations under France's picture. He didn't even like looking at photographs of the Frenchman, but this embarrassing one from that Christmas party was still amusing after all these years, Sealand with his fist in France's face after France made some advances. Then Sweden went after him later on, and now France always flinched when looking at the Scandinavian couple and their adopted son.

Alfred read through the description of France and relaxed.

"Sorry, Arthur, I was gone for a moment there…"

Arthur smiled his now frequent bittersweet smile, telling himself that on the bright side, Al had come back, and that that in itself was a gift. "It's all right luv, you are back, and still with me, nothing else matters." Arthur sat down in his seat and took Alfred's hand under the table.

"Artie, you won't leave me…right? You'll stay with me till the end, right?" Alfred's voice was as quiet as a whisper, his eyes downcast and pleading.

Arthur squeezed the trembling hand in his and smiled a true smile for once, although sadness still clouded his eyes. "Alfred, I will never leave you, my love is unconditional. In sickness and in health…"

"Thanks, Arthur, you have no idea how long I've been worried that you'd…that you'd leave me…because I was stupid, impulsive, reckless…"

"Alfred, stop berating yourself. In all honesty, I was very upset and mad at you in the beginning…but do you know why? Because I couldn't stand to lose you, still can't, but as I promised, we'll do this together. Now, smile, or people will start wondering what is up with you." Arthur saw that lopsided grin he'd fallen in love with spread once more on his lover's almost fully aware face. Smiling back, he watched Canada enter the room.

* * *

><p>Canada held onto his bear as he walked into the room, watching a very large potted plant follow him. He stopped in the doorway, then causally whispered to his right.<p>

"Gil, they aren't going to notice me, but a moving potted plant that swears loudly in German when it knocks into walls, that I believe they will notice."

"" (roughly translates to "mmmhghhhmhh no, they won't)

"Yes they will, and get your head out of the plant, I can barely understand you with all that grumbling and dirt. I won't let you trash the hotel room with dirt and leaves…again." Receiving no answer, he sighed. Of course, he'd fallen in love with a weirdo…an 'awesome' German one, but a weirdo all the same. And knowing why Gilbert was banned from these meetings didn't help his anxiety at all…

Realizing that for all intents and purposes, he was talking to a plant, he straightened up, and continued into the room, spotting his brother in a sweet-looking conversation with Arthur, the way the two of them were smiling at each other. _Huh, no fighting...Alfred probably is trying to convince Arthur to have sex with him after the meeting…_immediately blushing at the lewd thoughts, he realized he was thinking in a French kind of manner on first sight of the couple.

He walked over to Alfred, a small smile on his face. "Hey, Al. How have things been?" His seat was next to Alfred's, so he sat down, putting down his bear, causing Italy to run across the room to scoop the animal away, cooing at it, asking who its owner was…he'd have Gilbert rescue Kuma later.

Alfred smiled at him, looking a bit distant and startled at the question.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Canada's eyes widened. Alfred, sure, he always pretended to forget Canada, pretending to be stupid and unobservant to get out from under the Canadian's radar at times, it eventually becoming a joke between us, but Alfred hadn't forgotten who he was since…sometime during World War II.

"What?"

Canada saw America's mouth open, the question to be asked once more, when there was a shattering sound behind them.

"Scheiße!" Prussia had run into a wall, shattering the pot he'd been hiding in, and somehow, though Canada couldn't fathom how, was moving around in. Now he was sitting with the huge plant in his lap, covered by dirt, Gilbird flying 'round his head.

"Whoa, look! That plant just had a man-baby!" A certain man from Denmark was struck on the head.

"Man-baby plants were invented in Kore—da ze—" South Korea was muffled by a certain Chinese man. Canada walked over to Prussia, a look of irriatation mirrored on Germany's face as well as his.

"Hey, birdie…er…Canada, West!…I think I'll go now, and spread my awesomeness…"

"Bruder…what. Are. You. Doing. Here?" The anger was clear in the German's voice. Matthew spoke up.

"Gilbert, go back to the hotel, and stay at the hotel. And you better not mess it up, or so help me…" Canada talked in such a quiet, dangerous tone, and Prussia immediately sensed that the Canadian right now was more dangerous than his brother, and he got to his feet and scampered down the hall and out of the building. Canada turned back around at the situation with Alfred.

"Alfred, what did you mean with…"

"Hey, Mattie, how are things with you and Gil lately?" And he turned back around, Arthur looking off in the distance, a leather book in his hands.

Canada wasn't sure what had happened, if he'd just imagined it…but the pained look on Arthur's face threw him off for a second, watching as Arthur reached desperately under the table for Alfred's hand, and when they met, both held on as if their life depended on it.

_What's wrong with Alfred?_

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><p><strong>And there you have it. REVIEWS BE LOVE! here are those who reviewed last chapter: <strong>

**Alphine, ColdWarEmbraces, 13pinklizard, queen of the moment, InsaneNicEly, AnimeDNA, foreversnowynights, karatekid369. Danke!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hetalia be not mine, but a dream, escaping into the darkness of my own version of reality.**

**This is a sad chapter. Just warning. And I have to warn you guys. next wednesday, I'll be going to my grandma's cottage (lol, my grandfather's too, but none mentions that). THERE IS NO INTERNET. 10 DAYS. YES. IT BE TRUE. Anyway. This was hard to write. I tried making chapters longer, but it takes me longer. LAST EXAM TOMORROW! THEN I WILL WRITE LIKE RABBITS HAVE BABIES!**

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><p>Alfred sat through the majority of the meeting relatively quiet, scaring most of the people in the room. He would only talk in a whisper to England, or laugh occasionally at something, sometimes it being something no one could see. Then, at other times, he wore a sad expression, a frown dampening the room. And at other times, he stared off in the distance, as if confused as to how he'd gotten into this meeting. Needless to say, the meeting was extremely boring.<p>

As the meeting halted for the ever-sacred lunch break, Arthur tugged Alfred out of his seat, and started to walk them both out the door. Canada quickly walked after them.

Arthur didn't notice their follower, simply plowing on, waiting a good while before turning around and looking at Alfred, stopping them both and grasping Alfred's hand even tighter than before. He raised a hand to stroke Alfred's cheek.

"Hon, you with me, luv?" Alfred stared at Arthur for a moment, and Canada watched them from around the corner, wondering what this had to do with anything.

"Yeah-h, Artie, I'm here. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fade in and out. I've been concentrating for the entire morning…and, well, I know when I'm going under."

"Going under?"

"Yeah. There is this fogginess, and suddenly, I'm fighting, fighting to remember who I am…I'm being drowned…in my own mind…I mean, did you see that? I forgot Mattie! How could I? We're twins, connected by a bond! This shouldn't happen! Did you see the hurt? If it wasn't for that journal, I wouldn't have come back…I'm drowning Arthur…I'm close to the edge, and next time, it will be a close call if I can come back…each time, the fogginess gets heavier, denser, more frequent…and I'll never remember any of this…" Canada's eyes flew open wider than ever. _Drowning in his mind? Coming back? _

Canada watched in horror as his brother started to cry. His brother hadn't cried since…ten years ago, the day the twin towers fell. Something was truly wrong.

"Alfred, I'm going to be with you, till the end. You know that. We made that promise ever since you told me about this horrible wish you made." Arthur stood on his tippy toes and kissed Alfred's lips. That might have been what scared Canada the most, this open display of feelings and affection. Arthur was so…calm and sad…and not blowing up and drunk. "They don't say in sickness and in health for just any reason, Alfred." Arthur was being so…supportive of whatever Alfred had done, something Canada thought Arthur had lost when Alfred revolted.

Watching them wrap in an embrace, Canada felt that he shouldn't interrupt whatever moment they were having. As he walked away, he checked his phone. Damn, he couldn't stay mad at Gilbert long, could he…especially after that scene with Arthur and Alfred. He sighed. What a messed up family he had.

* * *

><p>"America, it's your turn to speak." Germany sat down from the podium, calling Alfred's name, causing him to pale.<p>

"Um, what was I supposed to talk about? I can't remember…"

A collective sigh went around the room, causing Alfred to hunch in his seat. Everyone waited with expectation for Arthur to nag at him, waiting for the entertaining fight that should have begun. Instead, Arthur gave him a kiss on the cheek, startling everyone with PDA, something England never did unless he'd consumed alcoholic beverages, then handed some papers to the American. Canada watched on, along with everyone else.

_England never would have done that…he'd just have let Al be embarrassed. Something is up between them…but what?_

"Um, due to recent…" Alfred began to read the speech, obviously having never seen it before, reading it semi-fluently, but stopping and starting at odd intervals. Everyone listened in confused silence, only clapping when he'd finished, having understood the whole speech, which contained none of the aliens, robots and ninja-fighting heroes it usually did. That scared most of the occupants in the room. Russia looked bored at this, and decided he needed to make the meeting more… interesting.

"Ha ha, even being a superpower, that speech was horrible. I bet you and all your American pigs couldn't write anything compared to my writings, USSR or not. Remember War and Peace? Oh wait, as an American, you probably need pictures to go along with it." Seeing Alfred's face show a frown, he continued. "I bet your English bitch wrote it, trying to get the satisfaction you can't give him in be—" Russia was tackled from across the table. _Ah, just like good ol' times_.

"You communist bastard! Don't you EVER speak about ARTIE THAT WAY!" America and Russia started to throw punches on the ground, scuffling.

"Oh, defending your 'butt buddy', how heroic!" At that, he received a sharp foot to the ribs. "How terribly weak!"

"We all know you have it out for…the ponytail guy, stalking him, and crap, but he doesn't want you!" That struck a cord in Russia's usually guarded heart, and he rolled over, pushing Alfred to the floor, punching every chance he got.

"Just for that, Lithuania will get it, isn't that right? He's your—" Russia then realized that Alfred was no longer reacting under him, his piercing blue eyes staring at the ceiling, distant. _Huh? America never had done this before in one of the many brawls we've fought against each other…_

Russia was knocked over unexpectedly, England now taking his place over the American lying motionless.

"Alfred! Alfred! Wake up! Please, fight it! You can do it!" Arthur was shaking his lover roughly. The other countries began to crowd around, Canada pushing his way through.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Alfred, fight the fog! Come back! Don't go, I can't go on without you, you stupid git! C'mon! I thought you were stronger than this!" Arthur planted his head into Alfred's chest, sobs starting to wrack his body.

Canada felt his heart stop. Was his brother gone?

Germany pushed his way through, adjourning the meeting for the day, telling everyone to leave and that Russia was on a warning. As the room cleared out, it was just Germany, Canada, England and America.

"England, what is wrong with him!" Arthur looked at Canada's pleading face.

"Alfred was mad one day, and he made a wish that he'd forget me, the rest of the countries, and a magical spirit granted it. He was doing fine, but these past couple of days, he's been slipping in and out of awareness, even forgetting me for a moment once…but…he mi-ight be really gone this time…" Arthur began to lose it once more. Canada paled.

"That can't be it, there isn't any science that can prove that…" Germany, always the sensible one, seemed confused.

"The doctor…I talked with him on the phone, he said it could be psychological, but…this is real. Alfred never believed in magic, until one evening he comes back, shaken, from a walk. This isn't some joke…and now he could be gone…" Canada put his arm around Arthur, and took a hold of Alfred's hand.

Arthur made one more attempt, leaning down and kissing Alfred on the lips, running his hands over Alfred's cheeks, the tenderness making both Germany and Canada look away with a blush, both believing this much emotion was something they shouldn't be allowed to watch.

Arthur finally pulled away, and rested his forehead on Alfred's, feeling the even breaths coming from Alfred's mouth as his eyes stared up into his, yet not really looking anywhere.

"Alfred, please…"

Arthur ran his hand through Alfred's hair, his voice a whisper that only Alfred could hear. He closed his eyes to protect him from Alfred's dull eyes.

"_Remember Me…"_

Arthur felt movement beneath him, and opened his eyes to see his lover's eyes blink once, then a light appearing behind them, causing Alfred to shudder.

"Artie, what happened? Why am I on the floor?" Arthur felt Alfred rise to a half sitting position, and compensated, moving off Alfred, and he started to laugh. Alfred just looked on with Canada and Germany with confusion until he realized that the laughs were now sobs.

Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur, pulling them both up to a standing position, ignoring the headache that was becoming more and more painful.

"Germany, we're going to head back to the hotel room, if that's ok…" He got a nod, then pulled Arthur from the room, past the other countries, saying a quick good-bye to his brother.

It would be the last time they would see Alfred as _America_ for a long time.

* * *

><p>Arthur rolled over in the queen bed he shared with Alfred, feeling the muscular arms around him shift as he got comfortable.<p>

He remembered every detail of the night they'd just had, a night of passion, the emotions they'd shared. It made him wonder if Alfred was preparing for…if this was Alfred's _last _night with…if Alfred had some premonition that he wasn't coming back, he hadn't told Arthur, but the Brit had sensed it with how Alfred had touched him, held him. The way he'd acted since they'd left the meeting was the sweetest Arthur had ever seen Alfred.

He held onto Alfred tightly, reaching up and kissing the sleeping form of his lover, making the kiss as loving as he could without waking up Alfred completely, just enough to show Al he was here.

* * *

><p>Alfred opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Hotel room? He scanned around. Yep. Now, how did he get there?<p>

First thing, he noticed he wasn't wearing any clothes under the sheets. Sleeping in the nude. And there was weight of a body next to him. He'd also gotten lucky.

He looked over and saw a bushy blonde with short hair and thin body facing away from him. Then the figure turned over, still asleep. That's when Alfred's heart stopped. This figure had no boobs…this was a naked man…sharing his bed.

A scream tore at Alfred's throat as he reeled backwards, out of the bed, into the crevice between the bed and the wall, his head banging painfully on the hard surface.

The small blond man shot up immediately, terror in his eyes, searching for something, before resting on Alfred's feet stuck in the air, the only thing visible from the bed besides a curl of blond, sensitive hair. The man pulled himself over to where Alfred was desperately trying to cover himself with some of the sheet, which had fallen off the bed.

"Luv, are you quite all right? It's ok, you simply fell out of…"

"I SLEPT WITH A MAN!" Alfred was clawing his way out from the crevice. "WHAT DID YOU DO! WHO ARE YOU!" The blond in the bed stared at him, his mouth open with shock. Alfred was putting on boxers hurriedly, trying to cover himself with the sheet at the same time. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!"

There was a hand on his shoulder, and there was the man he'd discovered he'd slept yesterday. Said man had a hand on his backside, obviously in some sort of…oh god…at least he'd not bottomed…but that meant…

Alfred was completely frozen under this man's touch, his eyes wide.

"Alfred, luv, it is me, Arthur. Arthur…we've been together for decades! Please!" There was a hand on his cheek, those green eyes staring into his. Alfred felt a compulsion to believe the man, but forced it aside, along with the naked British man, Arthur, running past him to throw on pants, grabbing the bomber jacket on the chair.

"I-I'm sorry, Arthur, but there has been a mistake! I'm not playing for that—!"

There lips on his, and Alfred realized how familiar it felt, although he couldn't remember why, causing him to realize he couldn't remember a thing besides his name. He gave the forward man a hefty shove.

Panic in his voice, his whole body shaking, he looked down at the Brit now across the room. "I'm not a _faggot._" The Brit simply looked back at him, his eyes full of pain, of hurt, of tears.

Arthur watched the hotel door shut, and finally felt the weight of the whole scene fall upon him. Alfred was gone…and had cut him deeply.

"Oh, Alfred…I wish this isn't how it ends…I'd thought our story had just begun…" The tears dripped down his cheek.

Had Alfred ever loved him? Arthur looked around for the journal_. That journal, it is the only way I can make sure to say everything that I must…_ Then Arthur remembered.

The journal had been in the pocket of the bomber jacket…that Alfred was wearing.

Feeling his heart sliced clean through, Arthur hit the carpet, the sobs issuing from his throat. Alfred was gone…and so was his love…

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><p><strong>Do you know what I noticed? Go to photobucket and type in "america england hetalia".<strong>

**The first two pages are filled with pictures...in which america has a(some) mysterious blue popsicle(s) in almost every single pic. And England usually is smoking. and they all are different pics. I am sorely confused.**

**REVIEWS BE LOVE! Thanks so much to karatekid369, Quainttheatre, riceyriceyricey, InsaneNicEly, futurepsycoperson, pyscokittenterror, and yamishun...three out of 7 have something to do with insanity or psychotic implications. hmm...fangirls :) My username is my two cats' names smashed together. "misty" and "amie" (like the french friend. _NOT AS IN AMY!_)**


	6. Chapter 6

**The mystery has been solved! Thank you guys for showing me. The popsicle thing is a youtube meme-y thing. I watched a video, and I'd have to say, it was kinda cool!**

**Anyways, if I wasn't clear, my trip is _next _wednesday. so, like, seven more days of updating (if not more, we might stay a couple days more in town due to a friend of the family having surgery.) but sometime next week, for sure, updates will stop for a couple days to more than a week. I'll shut up now.**

**In this chapter, we meet a new character. At first I was all, eh, Ill just make her boring and uninter...wait, spunky! YEAH! **

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><p>Alfred ran and ran, pulling the bomber jacket around his naked torso, a pair of dog tags slapping his toned chest, wondering where he went from there. He'd woken up next to man, not being able to remember anything, and now was running away from the one person who might have a clue as to who he was.<p>

He finally stopped running once he came to a bench in the middle of Central park, and he sat down. There was something in the pocket of his pants, and he pulled out a wallet. Opening it, he found a hundred dollars in cash and his license. He was apparently nineteen and lived in Virginia. How was he ever going to get back there on a hundred dollars? There was a credit card, but he couldn't remember the pin, so what use was it?

He put the wallet back in his pocket, and curiously reached in the other pockets of his pants, then moving to his jacket, he found a brown book.

_A journal? Why would I have such a thing?_

He opened the book, finding nothing but blank, yellowing pages until the very last page.

_Not going to make it be that easy. You haven't proved anything._

Alfred looked at the writing. Why was that there? What did it mean?

Below it was an address for a place in England. Alfred didn't know why, but he felt a compulsion to mail the journal there, even though he'd but a hundred dollars to his name.

Getting up, he headed in search of a post office, the sun slowly rising behind him.

* * *

><p>Arthur was walking up and down the streets of New York. He'd headed out as soon as he'd been able to compose himself enough to get dressed and run out after Alfred, and now was looking for him in the early morning light.<p>

He had convinced himself that if he found Alfred, he could bring him back. He wasn't sure how, but he would.

He looked everywhere, not even stopping to call to say he wasn't going to be at the meeting. Truth was, he felt that somehow, it had been his fault, that he'd let Alfred run past him, that if he could have stopped him…

His phone rang, and he hastily pulled it out, hoping against hope that familiar and often-dialed number would flash across. Instead, he was greeted by the name "Matthew Williams". He sighed sadly, and answered.

"Hello?" His voice sounded horribly sad and broken, and he winced.

"_Arthur! Where are you guys? Alfred isn't answering my calls."_

There was a silence, then Arthur finally tried to say something, bringing himself not to sound too panicked. "We're not coming today to the meeting."

"_Arthur, I want to talk with you, very seriously. Alfred's incident yesterday…well, it scared me more than anything. I fear for him. I don't know about this whole 'wish' thing, but I want my brother back, safe and happy again. This is hurting the two of you, I know it. Let me help." _Arthur now had stopped walking, and was trying not to cry.

_How selfish have I been…Mattie has no idea what's happening, and here I was going to pretend that Alfred was r-right beside…beside me. He's Alfred's twin, the closest to Alfred besides me…_

"Matthew, I've something to confess. Something's happened with Alfred…" Matthew listened without a word to Arthur's story, slow and tearful as it was.

"_Where are you? I'll meet you."_

The both of them moved quickly, covering two streets at once, then moving to the subway. Arthur knew after two hours that it was now pointless to search anymore. The big apple housed more people than lived in the entire country of Switzerland. How was he supposed to find Alfred?

The two of them sat in a coffee shop, eating a quick breakfast. Matthew had called Gilbert, who informed the rest of the countries. Arthur, on the other hand, had called the police, using the nations' special code to get past the load of bullshit the police usually gave with the whole "wait 24 hours" crap. The president had been phoned.

New York was being scoured for one confused and alone man…

* * *

><p>...who currently was reading up on available jobs in a post office in the back streets of Manhattan. He was looking for a good paying job for one with a…oh…did he even graduate high school?<p>

He finally decided he better mail the package, and he bought a box and postage and was packaging it, when he suddenly grabbed a pen from the cup in front of him, and started to write in the back of the journal. He didn't know how or what he was writing, before a fog came over him, and as he resurfaced, the package was all wrapped and addressed.

"What the hell…" He shrugged his shoulders, then turned to deposit the box into the mail shoot. He then grabbed the wanted papers for jobs and walked off.

He wandered the city, wondering how he was going to get a job and a place to stay with apparently no education.

It started to rain, and Alfred grew cold, wearing no shirt, and he ducked into a bookshop. He pretended to browse, grabbing a book and going over to a table to sit and pretend to read. He'd slept with a man. Was he gay? Had he been Experimenting? Confused? Drunk? Bi? And why couldn't he remember anything?

He set down the book with a sad sigh. He'd have to sleep in the ground tonight…

"Hello, deary! 'Tis not often that a half naked Adonis walks into my store."

He looked up at an old woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, her figure small, hair very white with strips of brown. She must have been a beauty in her day, her face beautiful in old age. And she was certainly flattering…_Adonis, ha, I like the sound of that…_

"I am truly sorry, ma'am, but it had started to rain, and I've nowhere to go."

"And you don't remember who you are. I've been expecting you." Alfred stared at the old woman.

"How did you kno—"

"Lad, this is a mystic bookshop. You are reading a tarot card book upside down. Although it doesn't take a psychic like me to figure it out, you need somewhere to stay." Alfred looked down at the book and saw she was right.

"I'm sorry, I'll go if you wish—" He started to stand.

"Hired!"

"What?"

The old woman smiled a toothy smile. "'Twas your interview! You're sure dressed down, but I like your spunk!" Her pale jade eyes stared at him, or rather through him. They were all seeing. They were the strangest eyes. So pale, yet the woman was obviously not blind, as one would think.

Then it hit Alfred.

"Hired!"

"Salary is five dollars an hour. Can't pay you minimum wage, don't have the money. But you can have the room for rent upstairs for free, and take your meals with me. Solves all your problems but the one with your mind, now doesn't it. You start tomorrow." The woman started for the stairs.

"Wait! What job?" Alfred was very confused. To get out of the rain, he'd stumbled in here, and now he had a job and a place to stay! Was there some kind of trick to this?

"You do everything in this bookshop. Go out searching for books on request, organize, unload, deliver, keep the books, buy my groceries and do heavy lifting for me when I need vacuuming done. I'll be in the back."

He looked at the psychic. _ Specific…Why would she just stay in the back, this is her—_

"Why, I'm the psychic, Madame LaRose, of course! You send people back to me. I'm famous in the underground." Alfred nodded. This was a lot to take in. She was a psychic who just decided to take him in…for no reason? Why was she doing this any—

"I owe an old friend a favor, and you're a nice lad. Strange, but I can tell one of you when I see 'em. Now go get changed, Adonis. I left clothes out for you. I knew you were coming, after all." With a grin, she was gone.

"What the…well, this day started out traumatic, but it seems to be for the better."

* * *

><p>Arthur arrived at his house. Alfred had been missing for four days already, but they'd told him to go back home to England, that they'd call him the moment they found him. They practically forced him to leave.<p>

Arthur was much thinner than he had been four days ago, having barely eaten, save enough to stay alive. It was hard for him now to heft his suitcase out of his car. To think, he'd been so excited when he'd first packed it…

He unlocked the door, and stepped inside, the rain pouring down. Setting down his suitcase, he took his boots off and slammed the door. His cleaning woman had been here, because he saw the mail on the table. He opened each one, finding no interest in their contents. He put down his letter opener and looked out the window. "Alfred…"

He stood up after a long time, and was going to go to make some tea, when the doorbell rang.

He answered the door, a person from the Royal Mail handing him a package, making him sign, then turning and going, leaving Arthur alone with a strange package.

He closed the door once more, and went over to the kitchen table, taking a once over of the box. Seemed normal, but it had no return address.

Taking a kitchen knife, he carefully cut away the tape, and opened the box, pulling out its content, and nearly dropping it when he saw what it was.

He opened it, finding all Alfred's writings, the photos, the information. And at the very end, a note in a familiar scrawl.

_This will not last long, but I write quickly. I love you. I didn't mean to ever hurt you the way I did. This is my last goodbye. I wrote this journal for you…and for me, but it seems it might be too late. Here is your inheritance. Arthur, move on, forget me as I forgot everything, and will forget in a moment. Find new love. Be happy. Please…please. Don't live in the past. Don't wait up._

_Alfred_

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><p>There was no identification on the box besides an airmail stamp. Alfred had purposely cut off ties, to stop Arthur from being hurt. But right now, as Arthur hugged the journal close, Alfred felt a warmth fill his heart, but he couldn't fathom why…oh well. He turned back to look out his window on the second floor. But all he could see were green, forest green eyes, pleading with him, tears and pain mixed together.<p>

"_I'm sorry…"_

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><p><strong>I love lines, now that I know how to do them. <strong>

**Speaking of To-do, when I was writing down the people who reviewed on a piece of paper (as opposed to having to keep looking back and forth from the review page), I realized it was my mom's 'organizer' pad. And the fact that I'd written you all under the "to-do" list. Made me laugh.**

**THANK YOU queen of the moment, Emily Sinclair, InsaneNicEly, Phamenia, 1woof1, 2bblue101, yamishun, Quainttheatre, karatekid369, HomeSickPirate26.**

**REVIEWS BE LOVE!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for not updating, I was at a Maroon 5 concert last night. _She will be loved!_**

**Thanks to british-pudding, InsaneNicEly, Eternally1Yours, 13pinklizard, HipsterMustache, karatekid369 for reviewing.**

**This is kinda a filler chapter, and time is passing by. **

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><p>Alfred lifted a stack of books with ease, hefting them across the store, knowing he shouldn't have this strength, but Mme. LaRose always seemed just to ignore it, chalking it up to being one of 'them'. He'd asked her repeatedly, but always got the same type of answer.<p>

"Sorry, Adonis. But that wouldn't make it interesting if I came out and told you, now would it." Then she'd grin that toothy smile, and disappear behind the black curtain where she would stay for hours, only coming out to make dinner, give him instructions, go out, or go to bed. He didn't know how she did it, thinking how it must be so boring.

It had been three months since he had come here, and he'd already developed a routine. He'd get up at six and get dressed, then go down and start getting the store ready. He'd open up the appointment book, and settle different things as she'd shown him how to do. Then he'd begin his list of tasks she would leave behind the counter. Sometime between seven or eight, the smell of breakfast would signal that the Madame was up, and he'd put everything aside and go upstairs.

They ate all sorts of food. Mme. LaRose apparently made a hobby out of cooking…every time he thought about that, he imagined burnt scones for some reason…but she was really quite good at it. Some days it would be omelets or some eggs (never cooked the same way), sometimes some pastry, toast with a jam she'd made in her spare time. Sundays were the best, due to that being the day the shop was closed, and Madame would make something special.

Alfred smiled as he imagined what next Sunday's was going to be.

Then the shop would open, and Alfred would start taking calls for appointments. It had been a surprise when he realized how many calls she got. Mme. LaRose was booked at least two days in advance. He'd then do things around the shop, as he was now, until twelve, when he'd go back and make a sandwich quickly and eat it on his break at a table, having found in the back, there were real novels on one bookcase, mostly having to deal with magic or faeries, due to the customer interest here. Then back to work, and then closing at six. During the nine to six day here, all sorts of people came in.

Some were normal people who were missing a child or animal and needed the Madame's help, and he'd send them back if they had an appointment, or would schedule them. Some wanted fortunes read, and while the Madame was busy most of the day, she always took walk-ins for fortunes for an hour every day they were open, reading tarot cards and giving happy fortunes, because whatever she saw, she should only build people up with her gift, telling the happy parts and leaving out the bad. Then there were the _other_ people.

Of course, there were the curious browsers and the amateurs looking at the books. Then there were the strange people with strange clothes and funky hair. They went looking for books that he'd never heard of, wanting cures for the weirdest things, and when he'd strike up conversation with them, he usually found himself very confused, their way of speaking quickly confusing, sometimes convincing him that they may not be _human_. Or they would look at him like he was stupid. That was more common. His first day there had been very strange, he remembered.

Alfred set down the books he'd been carrying, and stretched. He'd been doing the same thing for three months, maybe, after the store closed, he could ask for a brief reprieve from after hour errands to go to a club or something…something to spice up his life. He was nineteen, after all.

"So, Adonis, the restlessness of a young man getting to you?" Alfred didn't even flinch anymore from this sudden voice behind him. He was used to this, having her sneaking up on him ten times a day, knowing she probably did it for her own entertainment. She was a strange one.

"Why, I have no idea what you are talking about, Madame."

"I had a boy of my own years ago, I recognize the signs…even if I didn't know what you were thinking." She gave him her classic smile of "you-can't-hide-anything-from-me". "And my answer is yes, but be back by midnight. You can leave when you finish tidying up the shop."

He turned around and smiled down at her. "Thanks so much. You had a son?" _That would explain the clothes she had in the room for rent._

"Yes, but he went off to live his life. He has two beautiful daughters and a lovely wife out west. He obviously got over his restlessness, but then again, we're not all like you, Adonis, being one of them." Alfred sighed at the 'one of them' comment, but ignored it.

"You know my name is Alfr—"

"I won't call you someone else's name. You cannot remember being 'Alfred'. Why should I call you by someone you aren't? Would you rather I call you something not so ego stroking? How does Georgie sound?" She looked up at him, her face clear she would follow through with this.

"Ha ha, Adonis is fine. I like a bit of ego stroking." In the back of his mind, a voice that sounded much like his own echoed.

_Because I'm the hero!_

She watched as his hand went to grip his forehead as he grasped the bookshelf, trying to stay upright. Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the dizziness that had suddenly come upon him, and he watched her nod knowingly, walking back to her black curtain. _What was that about? Hero?_

Green eyes flashed once more, although the face around them had long since faded away. Alfred sighed. That person with the strange, emerald eyes was the answer to his memory. The person he'd run away from, the man who'd pleaded with him. And now, as the memory faded into a haze he couldn't explain, he tried to turn away.

Those eyes were in every dream, every mirror looking back at him, floating around his head. Those eyes which provoked him so…

At night, sometimes, as he lay there alone, trying to fall asleep, he would feel a phantom touch, a passing word, and he would jerk back from almost sleep to his room, those eyes in his head and tears in his eyes.

Maybe this club would help him forget the eyes.

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><p>Arthur at his desk, pale, bags under his eyes, looking at paperwork on his desk, but not finding the usually overbearing need to finish it, only a lack of motivation towards everything. He played with a pen absent-mindedly. It had been three months. The government hadn't found anything on Alfred besides that he'd been in a post office in Manhattan…and had mailed the journal. Then he'd vanished.<p>

Or, that was what the government was telling him, but Arthur knew how efficient _they _were. Alfred had told him once that the CIA had had no idea the USSR was going to collapse when it did, even though they had spies _all through out_ the Russian Government, that it had been a surprise to them. Or the time they released twenty-some odd convicts, some with life sentences. Yes, very efficient indeed.

Arthur sighed, finally shoving away the paperwork, opening up his briefcase, and pulling out the journal. He read it constantly. At first, he tried to find clues to where Alfred was, or how to cure him. Then he started reading it as a substitute for Alfred being besides him. Now he read it because it was like his secret drug, the book he read to see those words written across the page.

_I love you…_

And to forget that last morning they were face to face.

_I'm not a _faggot_!_

Arthur drifted off a few hours later, the book open and pressed to his heart.

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><p>Alfred walked into the club, having bought a pair of skinny jeans and a skin tight black tee to wear, and having brushed his hair to look like he'd just gotten out of bed, but still attractive. He put on his crooked smile, noting it didn't feel right, so he tried a cocky one in its place, finding it much better suited to the occasion.<p>

He could hide behind this newfound face, in a way he would be able to conceal his thoughts and feelings from everyone…besides the Madame of course, she was too damn good. He had a feeling that this was what he used to do years ago as well.

He looked around the flashing room, the music loud and blaring. He was the hottest guy in the room, and he knew it.

He was here to have a good time, and to convince himself he was as straight as could be, hopefully bagging a girlfriend or at least a good time and some new friends.

He was ready to get a social life.

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><p><strong>I really don't care if you review...but they Be love.<strong>

**Lastly,**

**Oh.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Here you go. It would have been out sooner if I hadn't been scaring the crap out of myself with slender man videos. **

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><p>Arthur sat in the meeting, not listening to anyone. He was reading the journal under the table, remembering the day Alfred was describing, reliving it as if Alfred were there.<p>

It had been almost a year. Tomorrow was the first of July, that accursed birthday of Alfred's already getting to him. He'd just been able to get over it when he'd been with Alfred, not getting drunk at all for the one last year, an accomplishment. But he had been tipsy last night, and tonight wasn't going to be much better.

Alfred had told him dozens of times in the journal that Arthur needed to move on after Alfred, suggesting for him to start dating, telling him not to get depressed over his leaving. That was like telling the Pope not to be Catholic. Apparently, the only thing that had weighed much in Alfred's mind those last few days and hours were Arthur's happiness. Well, Arthur was trying not to think of him now, as he slipped the journal into his briefcase. Alfred would have seen this behavior towards the journal as obsessive, Arthur reading it before bed, when he got up, whenever he felt the urge to.

He looked up as lunch break was called, and he stood up, noticing Canada staring at the place down the table where a seat was always placed.

"It's too bad, brother. To think, my birthday tomorrow, and how I used to get annoyed when you'd call at eleven pm because you forgot, and your phone had alerted you instead. What I would give now for a phone call…happy birthday to us…" Canada sighed, getting up and patting the chair and then walking out of the room past Arthur, trying to keep himself together, falling into the arms of Gilbert, who was waiting for him in the hallway, who was just holding him, petting the Canadian's hair, the gesture so tender, it left Arthur's heart feeling raw. Arthur felt tears rise, but he fought against them, simply just walking swiftly down the hall past the couple.

He'd had that. That love, it had been his, his and Alfred's. He remembered hearing somewhere that when a mother lost a baby, they sometimes would refuse to hold other children, feeling pain at every young family. It was the same for Arthur, except with loving couples, especially countries. It made painful memories surface. He'd remember Alfred pulling him into a closet on the way to the meeting room after lunch break, an impromptu make-out session or _more _coming his way_. _He remembered their dates, their dinners, their walks, strolls, embraces, kisses. Now it was all gone.

As he exited the elevator, he broke into a run. He needed to get away. Germany and Italy were talking…or rather, Italy was talking, and Germany was just staring at him in a tender manner he reserved for no one else. Across the lobby, Spain was cooing at a hotheaded Romano. Greece and Japan were sitting and chatting, their hands interlocked behind them. Couples, everywhere.

He ran down the streets, knowing he wouldn't be able to come back to the meeting, the pain in his chest too great. He heard a voice call him, a concerned tone masked in a French accent. He ignored France, thinking of a place he could stay for the rest of the day, no questions asked.

He was now deep in Manhattan, reading street names to figure out where he was. If only Alfred were here to point out—oh, right. He wasn't.

He recognized the next street. _Oh! She has her shop down here, and she'd let me stay the day. Maybe I could look to see if she has any spells to help me either get Alfred back, or a way to make this pain in my chest go away._

The door to Madame LaRose's shop swung open as Arthur neared the entrance.

"You are lucky lad, that I'm a psychic, or you wouldn't have been let in. We're closed on Sunday's. I, of course, knew you would be coming." _Ah, Madame LaRose, that blessedly strange woman with a big heart._

"Well, I wouldn't have come here if you weren't one. I was the one who helped you get this shop started all those years ago." He stepped inside, forcing a smile on his face. He looked around the familiar shop, the place where he got magic supplies while he was in America, and had been for the past thirty years. He saw the place was much more organized than last he'd seen it.

"You've taken in another waif to help you keep this place in order?"

"Yes, Adonis. He's out on his day off. Would you like to share lunch with me?"

"And then, he disappeared! Just like that!" Arthur was handed a tissue, and the psychic just watched him, her eyes sad.

"Come back tomorrow, and I'll have something that will most likely help in your search."

"He's been gone for almost a year I don't think a book of spe—"

"What about that journal you're hiding in that briefcase? Trust me on this. I know what I'm doing." She got up, and went up the stairs. "Let yourself out, and eat out tonight, you'll set the microwave on fire if you try to make something in the hotel." She gave him a sad smile, and as she passed the mirror, Arthur saw the old woman…and a young woman behind her, a beautiful woman, who was just standing there in the mirror, her hands holding a recognizable brown book before she faded away. Shaking his head, he turned away, leaving the store.

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><p>Alfred slipped into the shop two hours later, having said goodbye to Sarah, the dancer he'd started dating a month ago through his connections at the clubs in the area. She had a slim frame women would die for, her petite figure and green eyes his type of girl, her blonde hair a tad unruly.<p>

He wouldn't say yet if he felt anything more than attraction to her, every time they kissed sending him thinking of those green eyes. He knew he probably was Bisexual, but he was currently sticking to one side of the spectrum, due to the other side holding a possibly dangerous or hurtful past. So, women it was for him. Much easier for him to be 'completely' straight and poor to openly bisexual and poor, seeing as he didn't know how Madame would feel about him dating a man. She didn't like the woman he'd chosen already.

Speak of the devil; she came walking down the stairs.

"So, how was _Sarah_?" The words were venomous, the hate obvious in her voice.

"What is it you don't like about Sarah?" He walked back into the kitchen area and sat down at the table, weary from walking many blocks back from the dance studio.

"I'm sorry, I just believed love was for more than a pretty body and physical love." The Madame was upset about something, and Alfred noted the change in her voice, it losing its silky texture for a normal tone, something that the Madame would never use for fortune telling. Something was serious and bothering her.

"We haven't even—"

"YET. And that is because you are telling her to wait. You know just as well as I do, Adonis, she simply likes your body. She's shown no interest in your life, your job! She came in here, declared it 'tacky' and 'cheap', then asked you where your bedroom was. I know why you hesitate with her."

Alfred knew it was coming, this lecture he'd been trying to put off. Madame LaRose was his surrogate mother in a sense, and she gave her thoughts openly, whether he wanted them or not. This was his third girlfriend, the longest lasting out of the bunch. Madame hadn't liked one of them yet.

"You hesitate with her because you do not wish to commit an act with her if no love is involved. She is air headed, stupid, and vain. I've known plenty of dancers in all my years from that studio, but not a one of them were like this Sarah. She is a trollop, a slut. From the first moment I saw her, she ran a hand up the back of your shirt…after the second date! This generation, it moves too fast. She listens to nothing you say! If you weren't Adonis, which I see you have told her your name was 'Donny', she would have never called you back after the first night when you turned her down for a one night stand. You are simply how you say…_Arm Candy."_

Alfred listened to the rant, his face blank on the outside, but his mind tumbling with emotion.

"The only reason you go on with her is that you are scared!"

"Scared, Madame?" His eyes were dangerously flashing behind his glasses, but the woman took no notice for once.

"SCARED OF BEING ALONE! You are scared of having no one to spend the rest of your life with!" She stood there, her hands bunched into fists at her side, her hair falling from her bun. Any words Alfred had at that moment died on his lips.

He'd never seen her this mad before. She was still as perceptive as ever, only her emotions she hid so carefully were all in the spot light. Alfred realized that the reason she was so upset had to deal with this fear, which, now that he'd though about it, was dead on the mark, was because it was her own. A long dead husband, a son who lived far away and never visited, a shop on the wrong side of town, taking in waifs from the street to get company for more than an hour…

"I'm sorry." He stood, going to head upstairs, when he noticed there were two cups in the sink, along with two dishes, and two sets of silverware. "We had a guest. Who?"

"One of your kind. He'll be back soon."

That caught Alfred's interest, steering him away from the guilt that was creeping into his thoughts. "What do you mea—"

"Sorry, Adonis. But that wouldn't make it interesting if I came out and told you, now would it." Her response to a question he asked almost daily was mechanical, but her face showed the pain behind the words, her face turning downwards. Alfred sighed and quickly went up to his room and busied himself with other things.

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><p>That night, as he lay there in bed, he heard sobbing, but when he tried to investigate, he realized that there was no one out on the streets or nearby. The sobbing got louder and louder in his ear until the green eyes flashed in his mind, and words were whispered.<p>

"_I love you, Alfred._"

Alfred tried to shove the words away, but looking around the room, found it impossible, realizing that over the past couple months, anything that reminded him of those eyes had been hoarded into here. Pieces of green glass, plastic, soda bottles, cloth, fake gems. He couldn't get those eyes out of his head, and now his dresser was covered in an emerald green from the objects lying there in a pile.

As he pulled the sheets up close around him, a tear dripped down his cheek.

_I will find you…someday…_

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><p><strong>Reviews are not necessary, but make my day. I work hard to crank these chapters out.<strong>

**THANK YOU: cherryflamingo, Eternally1Yours, AmineDNA, yamishun, InsaneNicEly, arekisandora07, Refurinn, Emily Sinclair, karatekid369.**

**Fun Fact(it has been a long time): Zebras are genetically black with white stripes, seeing as they have black skin underneath their hair.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, everybody, here you go. I got distracted last night from my muse with the new story I'm writing, which might be going up soon. That one is going to be a RUSCAN, USUK AU. Thanks to Eternally1Yours, 13pinklizard, my-dear-fangirl, 1woof1, HetaliaLover, it's-an-Alice-thing, closeincline, CherryFlamingo, InsaneNicEly, yamishun, 2bblue101, and karatekid369. REVIEWS BE LOVE, but aren't necessary for updates...**

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><p>Arthur woke up earlier than normal, his head pounding with the amount of alcohol he'd ingested last night. Why had he woken up in the first place? He was about to turn back over and go back to sleep when he remembered LaRose's offer of help. He wasn't planning on going to the meeting today, and had been ignoring the calls that were now piling up on his phone.<p>

He got dressed and headed out for the mystic's shop, hoping it was open.

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><p>"Adonis, come on, I let you sleep in, now come on, come have breakfast. I have a store to open, and you have grocery shopping to do, and if I were you, I would get on that, because I can sense that today, all the old, slow, aisle blocking, people will be out." Alfred fell out of bed, and picked himself the floor. He'd not heard his alarm that morning, which was very strange. Well, he'd not been able to sleep after the first dream he'd had, for he fear he would forget it if he went back to sleep without writing it down, so he'd jotted it on a napkin he'd found, it being one in the morning, but then found when he tried to close his eyes, that he simply lived the dream over and over, and soon wished he'd never had it in the first place.<p>

The dream seemed important; maybe symbolic was the word he wanted to describe it. He'd been standing in a field, watching as a young man, about sixteen, he guessed, picked up a small child, holding him tight.

"Brother, y-you can't leave!" At the child's words, the man looked down, his _emerald_ eyes full of tears, and gave the now sobbing child a reassuring smile.

"I'll be back, you know that." The British accent cut straight to his heart, but before he could react, he'd been thrown into another field, the muddy, dream ground wavering under him. There was the British man with _those_ eyes and the child, now much grown.

"Go, leave. You are no longer my brother, and I yours." The words were cold, meant to hurt, the British man's face turning into a desperate one, before he strengthened in anger.

"NO!" And that had been where he'd woken up each time. He was left wondering why the child/boy, whose face had been blurry, had gone from begging his brother to stay to disowning him and casting him aside, telling him to leave. The both of the people in the dream had worn extremely outdated clothing, and besides the British man's eyes, Alfred had been able to notice nothing about the man besides his blond hair.

What could tear apart a family that horribly?

_Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness._

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><p>He quickly got dressed, running downstairs and sitting down at the kitchen table that was hidden in the back area of the building. Eggs Benedict awaited him, and he dug in. The dream was now pushed aside as a shopping list was set next to him, reminding him of how he hated these days when all the senior citizen homes seemed to drop their patients from assisted living at the <em>same <em>grocery store, meaning blocked aisles, slow moving vehicles, bad hearing, and worst of all…_EXACT CHANGE!_ The old people seemed not to be able to pay with a simple twenty for their milk, adult diapers, dentures, and prune juice. No, they counted out three hundred pennies and seventeen nickels along with lots of one-dollar bills. And then, recounting happened, and counting the change they got back.

He finished quickly and headed out, taking the list and money for the groceries with him.

Madame LaRose smiled as he ran off, and opened up the store on her own, and a few minutes after she'd unlocked the door, a young man walked in, his hair mussed up, green eyes foggy from his hangover he was recovering from.

"Arthur, would you like to take some morning tea with me?"

"You said you'd have something to help me find Alfred…"

"Would you like some tea? I hear you Brits love the stuff. I can't get Adonis to ever take a sip of it. Remarks on how he'd like to take the tea and throw it in the harbor." Arthur stopped, his eyes flashing.

"Ha, Boston Tea Party. The beginning of the end. He must think himself very funny." Arthur's glare was immediate.

"No, he simply loves his coffee. He'll be back. Then I can help you."

She led him into the kitchen.

"What is it exactly that is supposed to help me? Is it a spell book, because I've tried all mine, and none of them work in the least." He sat down, watching his English Breakfast Tea steeped.

"No, it is something much better. May I see that journal you have?" Arthur gave her a no-nonsense look, reaching into his bag and retrieving the book.

"I never said it was a journal…" Arthur handed her the book, and she set it on the table.

"She knew it was one. This journal belonged to a Mrs. Charlotte Johnston Wilson, a woman who lived during the Civil War in Virginia, who died in childbirth. I have talked with her on many an occasion."

"What are you talking about, that is Alfred's book!" Arthur now was reaching across the table to try and grab the book back.

She held it up for him to see, and he paled. Where Alfred's words had been, there now was a feminine script, the name Charlotte written on the top. Then it faded, and Alfred's words reappeared overtop.

"Charlotte granted Alfred's wish, wanting to show him that love wasn't something one took for granted, a love she could never enjoy due to war. This journal is key to solving this. Don't lose it; this is the most magical of books I've held in a long time. She lives in this book." The book was handed back, and Arthur flipped it open, seeing that Alfred's words were still there, but on an empty page, there was that script again, although illegible.

"But Alfred is missing! I can't solve this on my own…"

"He is closer than you think." The psychic smiled at him. "Now, I don't usually give free readings, so don't going around telling people." She got up, and Arthur continued to sit his tea, relieved and now motivated to look anew for his love. He was just finishing his tea when the front door opened, ringing a little bell over the door. The woman, who'd been washing dishes, straightened her back with a sigh, and went out into the store.

"Adonis! Back already! Well, I'll take the groceries from here, you stay at the counter to take my appointments…"

"Madame, these are really heavy, and I know you don't have any appointments this morning, remember, I schedule them. Now let me set these groceries in the kitchen, and then I'll be out of your hair. I'm sorry I took so long, the old man in front of me in the check out was telling me all about how today is Canada's birthday, and I remarked about how Gettysburg begun today, although I had no idea I knew this stuff, and we got into this HUGE discussion on Gettysburg and the Civil War in general, and he patted me on the back, and told me there was hope for the younger generation yet. Isn't that great, and."

"All right, Mr. Chatterbox, come on."

Arthur heard the fast paced discussion and came to the conclusion that LaRose's help, Adonis, was back from wherever he had gone out to. He watched as the small woman scurried into the kitchen, looking anxious for once, her natural calm broken, a man standing in the doorway, the grocery bags he was carrying in, which looked heavier than a man his size should be able to hold blocked the man behind her. Body-builder, probably.

"Mr. Kirkland, this is Adonis, my employee. Just set them over there, dear." The tall man went over to a place over at the far end of the kitchen, putting the groceries down on a counter blocked by an open door.

"Adonis, this is Arthur Kirkland, a friend of mine." The man turned around and Arthur's heart stopped. There, in front of him, was Alfred, his hair a tad longer than he remembered, his smile the same, his clothes a tad off. Then, he realized, as the man came closer, with his hand out, he was wearing his bomber jacket.

Their eyes met, and he watched Alfred stop dead in his tracks, his eyes widening for a moment before he looked away, grabbing Arthur's hand in a lame handshake, before the hand dropped to his side.

The door rang, and Alfred's head jerked up. He started to walk out of the room. "Madame, I'm going to go work the shop." And he was gone. Arthur's mouth was open.

"Alfred…" It came out as a whisper, and the woman's hand was on his shoulder.

"He remembers up to the night he ran away from you in the hotel. That is it. That is why he is so standoffish. I've had him here ever since then, working for me. Would you like to see his room? There is something you should see." Arthur felt the rejection Alfred had just given him fiercely. He nodded numbly; not believing his Alfred was really in the next room, wanting _nothing _to do with him.

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><p>Alfred watched as a few customers browsed the store. He'd know those eyes anywhere. That was the man he'd slept with that night he could remember. This man who he'd just gotten away from, pretending to have never met him before.<p>

This man who had the answers to his questions.

Alfred sighed as he heard footsteps up the stairs behind him. He needed to talk with this man. How else was he supposed to remember?

A woman flashed in a mirror across the room, her face impassive, in her hands a brown book, and Alfred watched her fade, trembling. He was scared of ghosts. But the brown book seemed familiar, like the one he'd mailed...

He peeked into the kitchen to see it still lying on the table. He reached for it.

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><p><strong>Fun Fact: The first black head of state to be received at the White House was Toussaint L'Ouverture, the President of the new Haitian country, by John Adams, only to be cut off from America and its trade by Thomas Jefferson in a few years, crippling the new nation. <strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**So, here it is, another development chapter. I was working on more of my new story The Lion and the Wizard.**

**http: / /www . fanfiction . net / s / 7127889 / 1 / The_Lion_and_the_Wizard Anyway, one or two more days and I'll be gone!**

**THANKS TO: queen of the moment, 13pinklizard, InsaneNicEly, CherryFlamingo, and karatekid369. Reviews be love, but not necessary...**

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><p>LaRose showed Arthur down a narrow hallway, down to a small room. She opened Alfred's bedroom, and Arthur took a look in.<p>

He gasped as his eyes scanned the room. All around him were little pieces of hanging green glass, trinkets, plastics, all the same color. Looking at the floor beside Alfred's bed, there were piles of papers, all with eyes drawn on them, or scribbles. Over a chair was the familiar bomber jacket. He walked into the room, picking up the pieces of Alfred's green collection.

"What _is _all this?" Arthur fingered the trinkets, and he looked up into the mirror. Then it struck him. All around him, that green color, it was the same as the green of his eyes. _No, it couldn't be! Alfred, he doesn't remember me as anything more than a…_

"I know this may seem strange, but Alfred seems to be fascinated with emerald green, especially green eyes. The only people he seems to be attracted to seem to be blondes with pale skin and green eyes. I wonder why that is…" Arthur spun around to look at the psychic, his face paling in shock.

"He…"

"He loves you, deep in his heart, he just has no idea. If only he could come to terms with…anyway, don't give up. I sometimes hear him at night, crying. He needs you, just as much as you need him. Don't forget that…" Arthur heard her words, but couldn't process them. Alfred was alive, he was here, and he still was hanging onto his old life.

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><p>Alfred picked up the book from where it lay on the table, and immediately yelped, letting it drop back onto the table. As soon as he'd touched it, a strange tingling had shot up his arm, his head beginning to pound. He now was on the ground, holding his head.<p>

Images surged through his mind, of a mansion home, of the woman he'd seen in the mirror, a feeling of terror ripping through him. Something had gone horribly wrong, and this woman had something to do with it. There were then images of the man who was upstairs, getting a tour from the Madame…hopefully they wouldn't go to his room. The man was yelling at him in some cases, begging him in others, pleading with him. They were fast and confusing, to the point where Alfred couldn't tell one form the other.

He crawled over to the wall, and rested his head against the wall, holding his head. He tried to hold back the tears, the pain immense in his head. God, he should never have touched that book.

Finally, the pain began to subside, and he heard people coming down the stairs. Throwing up his guarded mask of a smile, he made it over to the counter, and pretended to be doing work. Arthur came down and sat down at a table in the browsing area.

Alfred tried to not meet Arthur's gaze, and tried to act friendly, even though the whole situation was extremely tense.

"So, Arthur, that book you got there, looks interesting. Is it a family heirloom?"

Arthur looked up, startled by Alfred's sudden talking. "Er…yes, in a way. It is a journal." Arthur noted Alfred _glaring_ at the book.

"I see, it looks quite old, who's journal was it?" Alfred leaned on his palm, feeling his lack of sleep catch up to him.

"It was…well, the book is much older than the journalist…seems to be, and it details about the man's life as he slowly loses everything…I have held it close to me ever since, we were very close before all this started." Arthur looked down at the book, a tear falling from his eye.

Alfred realized immediately that this close friend must have been important, and the way Arthur seemed to be hedging around the man's name or relation, it mostly likely was a romantic relationship they shared. But the sight of Arthur's tears, that made Alfred deeply upset, although he couldn't place why. And the thought of…no, he wasn't jealous that Arthur had been with someone. Why should he have been, they've only met once, and had a one night stand, right?

Alfred turned back to his work and read a tiny little line of words on the calendar. "So, July 1st, Canadia day. Interesting. To think, they never had to do squat for it…no horrible revolutions that tear families apart and…"

Arthur was staring up at Alfred, who stopped, and turned away from the calendar. An idea struck Arthur, who'd noticed how sad and quiet Matthew had been.

"Al-donis, it also happens to be my brother's birthday, and I was wondering if you could help me with a little prank." Arthur got up and stood next to Alfred, who seemed to be…trembling? Was he still upset about waking up next to him? Arthur ignored it and pulled out his phone. "You see…I always…tease him, telling him that to try and help him get a date, I give his number and information to all sorts of people I meet on the streets. Do you think you could call him and wish him a happy birthday, and tell him that 'Artie' told you all about him?" Arthur knew this was a huge jump, especially if Alfred was homophobic, like he was that night…

"Sure! Sounds fun! What's his name?"

"Matthew."

They dialed the number, Arthur knowing Matthew wouldn't answer it if the meeting was going on…but if he read the caller ID and saw it was England…who was missing…oh well. The ringing stopped, and a quiet voice came on.

"This is Matthew Williams, aka, Canada. Not America. Please just hang up if you dialed the wrong number, you people fill up my answering machine." Alfred stiffened at the voice, it being so familiar…but a beep interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to the task at hand.

"_Hey Mattie,"_ He didn't know why he was doing this, but turning down Arthur was like…kicking babies…or something. "Your bro Artie informed me today was your birthday, so just…"

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><p>As Canada left the meeting, he grumbled. Arthur had not even shown up, he wasn't answering calls, and was probably stone drunk once more. Canada had no one but France and Prussia remember his birthday, his father and his lover, everyone else simply remarked on how Alfred's birthday was in three days. And every mentioning of Alfred was a sharp pain.<p>

He checked his phone and saw a new voice message from Arthur. He beter have a better reason besides drinking to this one.

He put in his password and went into an empty room to get away from the noise the rest of the countries were making down the hall.

The voice over on the other end was clear, the same inflection, same accent. Tears poured down his cheeks, although he could tell Alfred had no idea who he was talking to during the message so far, it meant he was still alive, still healthy, still there. Arthur had found him.

"…_anyways, just wanted to wish you a great day, but don't eat too much maple syrup, you'll get a stomach ache." _The message ended there, but Canada felt the phone fall out of his hands. The beginning of the message, it made it so clear that Alfred had no idea who he and Arthur were, but that sentence, Alfred was the only one besides Gilbert who knew about the maple syrup thing…

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><p>Arthur came back the next day, reading different books while Alfred went about his job. They talked back and forth, Alfred becoming more and more comfortable around the Brit, although it was like he'd already known him before all thi…<p>

Around lunch time, Arthur got up after checking his phone, and walked out with a smile and a wave, saying he'd be back in a month or so, about some overseas business. Alfred waved back, finding he was going to miss the company.

Outside the store, a man looked quickly in the windows at the oblivious American, smiling as the Englishman walked out.

"See, Matthew. Just as I said."

That night, as Alfred lay in bed, the phantom hands returned, moving up and down his body, caressing his cheek, neck, moving down his chest, before moving to run through his hair or squeeze his hand. Alfred wanted so desperately to have the person there with him instead, wanting to hold this phantom, the love deep and strong. A husky voice whispered in his ear.

"_Remember me…"_ Arthur.

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><p><strong>AN: ok, I know Canada did more than 'squat'. can't remember right now, tho...haha, I'm an ignorant American...how sterotypical.<strong>

**Fun Fact: Neither George Washington nor Thomas Jefferson wore wigs, they powdered their hair.**

**Fun Fact the Sequel: Ivan the IV of Russia threw dogs and cats out of belfrey towers in cathedrals as a child.**


	11. Chapter 11

**HERE WE GO! ONLY A FEW MORE CHAPTERS! Oh, and on an off topic, after a conversation with XxBleedingSoulxX2828, I just want to tell you guys that all my fun facts are found by accident in my everyday life. Like looking over my mom's shoulder and reading under "NEW YORK PASSES GAY MARRIAGE" (I live in that state, don't tell anyone!) on my mom's gossip website that Neil Patrick Harris is getting Married to his cute boyfriend, FUN FACT! or in the discount section of Barnes and noble, another one of my stalking grounds. Like, in greatest lies in history, a book I didn't buy, that America knew about the Pearl Harbor plan before it happened, or the _government, rather,_ did (still lurve meh country, tho). I saw something on sex scandals next to it, so I didn't read anymore, but yeah. I never google for these. Or I just pull them from my memory. or a conversation with my dad. I'll shut up.**

**Thanks to:InsaneNicEly, Carolxchan, XxBleddingSoulxX2828, CherryFlamingo, Eternally1Yours, Hitsu4HinaEva -Hari-Sama, it's-an-Alice-thing, 13pinklizard, HikarikegawaAshi, yamishun, huff huff, lots of names, Hotaru-Hoshimo, 2bblue101, artfan, foreversnowynights...sorry if any of them were wrong, its late. **

**lol, did anyone else see the new Futurama? Do I smell a Bender-Fry bromance?**

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><p>"<em>You okay? Artie, I don't like how this is goin'" <em>

"_You git! This is your entire fault! If you would just enter the war, it wouldn't have to be like th-"_

"_ARTIE, how many times do I have to tell you this? My boss isn't letting us join this war. It isn't our fight, we've not been attacked, and we're helping you anyway under the guise of neutrality…"_

"_Alfred, if you stay out of this war much longer, there might not be an England to fight next to. Germany, he's quickly covering ground in Europe, and Japan is into China. You might be the only one fighting this war in the end." Alfred felt his heart plummet. _No, no, not England…not England…

"_I'm sorry Arthur; I'm doing all that I can."_

"_I get it Alfred, fine. Go home to your beautiful country, the one that isn't crumbling around you." Arthur turned away, and Alfred noticed the bandages wrapped heavy under Arthur's shirt, making him furious at whoever did that…and himself, for some unfathomable reason._

"_Artie…please…"_

"_Bye Alfred…"_

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><p>Alfred shot up, gasping for breath. What had that been about? It sounded like…World War II? But Alfred hadn't been alive for that…and Arthur…he wasn't there too…was he? Was Alfred simply imagining scenes from some old movie? And why was he replacing the characters with Arthur and himself?<p>

Alfred stumbled downstairs and unlocked the doors to the shop. He was getting up later and later, having spent more and more nights going out dancing with his girlfriend.

Sarah was a beauty in her own right, but lately, she'd been pressing the subject of _bedroom activities._ Alfred still wasn't even sure if he loved her, and found himself hesitating. And now, he'd been enrolled into a competition with her _for dancing._

They'd been heading off to a club when she'd pointed out an oldies club fro dancing. He'd been reluctant to say the least, but she'd insisted, saying she wanted to improve that genre of dance lately, and she'd show him what to do.

It had been the swing when they'd walked in, and she'd dragged him out. He had had no idea how to start, but once he did, he'd started to out perform _her! _He didn't have any idea he could dance that way, and after many different dances and hours later, she'd been very impressed. So, now he was stuck with this.

The bell over the door rang, and Arthur walked in, back from England apparently. Alfred gave him a wave, turning back to fume about the dancing competition. How was he even going to practice? He didn't want to make a fool out of himself, and he'd been a little awkward at different parts of the dances, like something wasn't quite right.

"What has you frowning?" Alfred looked up at Arthur, who was reading some spell tome, _like they actually worked_.

"Well, my girlfriend signed me up for a partner dance competition, and I have no one to practice with, only Sarah knows oldies dances around here, and the girl part." Arthur had been told by Madame LaRose over the phone about "Sarah", and about how vain the girl was. Still, the mention of her from Alfred's mouth…then he registered the rest of the sentence.

"Uh…what if I told you…that _I _knew the woman's part to…err…certain oldies dances?" If this wasn't Alfred, Arthur would never had admitted this, but having danced the last few centuries with mostly _men_, one needed to know the girl part. Unless one was Alfred.

They cleared the first two tables, and hesitantly, Alfred took Arthur's hand, putting his other on Arthur's small waist. Arthur felt his side heat up, along with his face, but said nothing, enjoying the feel of Alfred's hands on his body once more.

Alfred said nothing as Arthur's hand went on his shoulder, and they began to dance, an old gramophone being pulled out of a closet. _Good thing the Madame is out…_

Alfred realized within the first three steps that there was no awkwardness with Arthur. Instead, a feeling of rightness, of love, and Alfred let himself go. They twirled in and out, Alfred spinning an experienced Arthur with ease. Arthur seemed to trust him fully, and as they went from dance to dance, the rest of the world disappeared, the both of them not noticing Madame LaRose walk right past them with a grin on her face, or the phone ringing, or customers walking in.

Finally, Alfred brought them to a halt, realizing the music on the gramophone had long ago ended, and that Arthur was smiling, his face turned downwards. As if sensing Alfred's gaze, he looked up, and they stared into each other's eyes, their faces moving closer and closer, until Alfred moved to close the distance, and Arthur closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a smile…

"DONNY! WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!" Alfred and Arthur both shot backwards, and there in the doorway, stood a petite woman, her face red with rage. Alfred's girlfriend.

"Sarah, I can explain!" Alfred was given no time to finish, and was dragged into the backroom, Arthur left with a feeling of pity and extreme disappointment and heartache. _Alfred had been about to…_

Sarah pushed Alfred into the backroom and slammed the door.

"YOU WERE ABOUT TO KISS HIM!"

"Sarah, I-"

"WHAT HAVE I BEEN THESE PAST MONTHS? AN EXPERIMENT? A DIFFERENT TASTE? A BEARD?" Sarah began to yell at the top of her lungs, and even though she'd closed the door, everyone could hear her.

"Sarah, please, forgive me, I got carried away. I got swept up, and I…I had a lapse of judgment…" _A lapse that felt so natural, so right…_

"LAPSE? YOU JUDGED YOURSELF TO BE GAY AT THAT EXACT MOMENT?"

"I THOUGHT IT WAS YOU! I FEEL NOTHING FOR ARTHUR, I'M NOT GAY? Happy now? Do you need me to prove it?" Alfred knew that all three were lies, but right now, he was panicking. He couldn't be alone, and his thoughts for Arthur were scaring him. He just needed her to shut up.

"Yes. Tonight." Sarah ran a finger down his cheek, and Alfred stiffened. He'd fallen right into that. But…

"Fine."

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><p>Arthur heard Alfred yell, heard the words.<p>

_I thought it was you!_

…_Nothing for Arthur…_

_Not gay…_

Tears pricking his eyes, he gathered his belongings and ran from the shop. _No…I've lost him forever…_Alfred had moved on, and now Arthur had to deal with this. Alfred had reset, and now was straight. Now that Arthur thought about it…Alfred had only ever been gay…for _him!_ And without feelings for Arthur, he was straight as a nail.

He got to his hotel room and slammed the door. He wasn't going to the meeting tomorrow. He was now on the computer booking the next flight to England. And it would be a long time before he ever stepped foot in the States, and even longer New York. He would never see Alfred again…

Sitting back, the tears falling from his eyes, he reached for the pile of books he had run from the store with, books he'd bought, papers from the meeting, and the journal. _Wait, where was it…!_

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><p>Madame LaRose had heard every word, those said and those unsaid, yet thought. <em>Adonis…<em>She walked out into the main room as Alfred was dragged away by Sarah, his eyes unconsciously looking for Arthur as he went. When they'd gone, she'd picked up the journal that had slipped onto the floor when Alfred and Arthur had danced, and knowing Arthur would notice it missing, immediately closed the shop two hours early, having no more appointments, and placed the book on Alfred's bed. The boy needed a bit of guidance, and Arthur wasn't going to run away from this, leaving Alfred miserable and lonely.

Alfred lay there in a hotel bed, Sarah snuggled next to him.

"Finally! That was amazing! The wait was a little long, but a couple more rounds and I'll have had no problems!" Sarah was beaming. Alfred thought he was going to be sick. He regretted everything. Every pleasure, every touch, felt like infidelity. He'd bit his lip, his cry of "ARTHUR!" silenced before it ever tore his throat. He felt disgusting.

"Wait? Sarah, how many boyfriends have you had?"

She looked up at him, her face arrogant.

"Don't know, more than I can count. What I can say is none as long as you."

"Wait, why did you break up with all these men so fast? We've only been together for two months!" Alfred was hoping against hope that…

"Well, you were the only one who didn't give up the goods! I usually was bedded by the second or third date, if I deemed them 'boyfriend on facebook' material, but most were one night stands. But you, you made me wait, but being all sexy and 'morally sound', I knew that I had to corrupt you! The others I dumped when their sex got boring. You, you're a keeper, being that you've made me wait, making the sex WAY better! And, Donny, you are an Adonis, like your name implies! Yep, we got a couple more months of this game in us!"

Alfred felt a knife rip through his chest. He sat up, edging away from the dancer, who now was pressing close to him, her naked body trying to force him into another round. "Wait, you haven't stayed with me for…love?"

She smiled seductively and ran a hand on his face, causing him to shiver at how disgusting it felt, how wrong…he imagined Arthur's hands…NO. "Darling, I did love you, and it is only eleven, we can make more love…in fact, I…"

"No. Sarah, we're over!" Alfred climbed out of the bed, grabbing his clothes from around the room, when he'd let her undress him.

Her face turned dark. "What are you talking about, Donny? I have invested two months for you, and after one round of warm-up sex, you want to leave? What, do you want to go f*ck around with that fag? Really, I sensed a leaning with you when we met, but I had no…"

"Sarah, I hope someday you'll come to understand that the world isn't as shallow as you. I thought that we had something, but now I look back to see what a fool I was. Arthur, although gay, I have more love for than I ever did you. And I don't regret waiting so long to figure this out; I only wish I'd done the figuring before I let you corner me into sex for almost doing the best thing I've ever done." _Kissing Arthur…_ _"_I got no pleasure from you; I'm leaving here, and going home for a shower. It is called _making love_ for a reason, Sarah. Not 'using for hormonal pleasure'."

Sarah shot straight up in the bed, not even bothering to pull up the sheets to hide her nakedness. "LOVE? YOU THOUGHT LOVE HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH-!" The door to the hotel room slammed as Alfred ran away into the night.

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><p>He slumped into the bookshop, tears falling from his eyes as he showered and went to lie on his bed. But as he lay down, he felt something hard. Pulling the book out, he realized he was holding the book he'd mailed Arthur. This time, though, it invited him in, and he read the first lines.<p>

_Alfred F. Jones_

_I have decided, as of today, I will start to chronicle my life, so that when I can no longer remember, I can look back and remember these days…_

Alfred didn't sleep that night, only shutting his eyes at first morning light, his face stained with tears.

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><p><strong>Reviews aren't necessary, but make my day, and for a ton of writing. And yes, NPH is getting married. <strong>

**Fun Fact: The string on the box of animal crackers originally was there so the box could become an ornament. Kinda like Candy Canes, 'cept more addictive.**


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm sorry, can't mention all you guys this time, have to go soon, but thanks to all who reviewed! Wrote this all while listening to "somewhere in time" THAT SONG IS AMAZING!**

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><p>Arthur walked quickly down the street, heading for the place he'd never wanted to set foot in again. He passed a cheap motel to see a familiar face walk out. He stopped, trying to duck away, but she'd seen him.<p>

"Ah, Donny's little butt buddy. Did he visit you last night?" Sarah was wearing a rumpled dress; her hair pulled back, her eyes rimmed with bags. Arthur shook his head in confusion.

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

Sarah realized something at that moment. _Adonis loves Arthur, but they haven't…oh, this is too good!_

"I just thought, you know, since I got a piece last night, maybe everyone got something. But then again, Donny _isn't _gay, so why am I even asking you?" She stalked away, trying in vain to recover from the fact that someone else had a love, someone who was interested in more than their body.

That was something Sarah had long traded away, true love, due to heartbreak over the years. That was part of the reason she'd stuck with Adonis, his gentlemanly manners, his refusal to do the naughty until he was ready, or had believed himself in love. His refusal last night had hurt her, showed her just how vain and shallow she'd become. A part of her surfaced at that moment that she'd not remembered, and she actually felt bad for what she'd just done to Arthur, who was now standing there, tears slowly running down his face. But her pride caused her to walk on, her eyes sadly searching for a new good time to turn her mind once again away from her own problems.

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><p>Arthur made it to Madame LaRose's shop, sighing as he went to push the door, having run here last night to find the place locked. Now he was reluctant, hoping against hope not to see Alfred, but also wishing to see the love of his life one more time before he left for good.<p>

Upon opening the door, he saw that it was Madame LaRose standing behind the counter, not Alfred, causing a huge disappointment run through Arthur. The woman had a sad smile on her face, and Arthur sighed, strolling up to her.

"Did I leave my journal here yesterday? I tried to come last night, but this place was closed early. I really need it, I don't know…he isn't gay…he slept with Sarah last night, he's never going to be my Alfred again, so please, if you know where it is, I'll pay you anything for a reading…" He watched her nod and disappear around the corner, his eyes watering.

She walked up the stairs, intent to grab the journal. She had no idea if Alfred had read it, if he remembered, or if he had just fallen into bed after his night with Sarah.

He was laying on his bed, curled around the journal, and the Madame brushed his hair off his forehead to look down at this boy she'd come to think of as her own.

His eyes were rimmed with bags, his skin pale, and his expression sad. The psychic didn't have to mind read to see that he'd regretted his night with Sarah. She also knew he was going to have to work a little harder to sort everything out. She pulled the journal from his unconscious grasp, and turned to walk back down the steps.

"Here, Arthur, I found it yesterday under a table, and had stored it in the back."

"Thank you, so much. This is all I have of Alfred, now that he's moved on…I'm flying out in an hour and a half for that reason, so I must be going."

"If you truly love something, you'll give it up…" She nodded her head as she said the old saying. Arthur walked out of the door, wiping tears from his eyes.

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><p>Alfred opened his eyes at the sound of a loud horn blaring down the street, and immediately felt for the journal. Not feeling it, he looked around. Then he realized where he was.<p>

He jumped out of bed, even though he'd only had two hours sleep, and he ran down the stairs. The Madame had already opened the door, and Alfred saw her at the counter, looking off into space, deep in thought.

"Madame LaRose, where is the journal?"

"Soon to be boarding first class with a certain Arthur Kirkland for England in thirty minutes."

Alfred ran for the door. "Arthur hates LaGuardia, so it would JFK he's flying out of…" Alfred stopped, his eyes wide.

"Yes, Alfred, now go, England can't wait much longer!" He smiled at her use of his name.

He was back, as if he'd never been gone for a year, and as he ran, he felt that year strip away, his love for Arthur having never disappeared. "I'm coming, Artie, just please, wait for me!"

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><p>Arthur sat in the terminal, his head in his hands, his eyes puffy and swollen. <em>Alfred, Alfred, how could I have ever taken those days for granted?<em>

He sat up finally, reaching into his bag and pulling out the journal. Instead of Alfred's writing, there was that script.

_You should have said one last goodbye…_

_You should have fought one more battle…_

_Love is a battlefield, tearing people apart; don't surrender just yet, the battle still rages…_

"Boarding now, first class of flight 4701 for London, England, boarding at this time, first call." Arthur stood; his heart wishing what the journal said was true. He put the journal into his carry on, and walked into the checking in station.

_Goodbye Alfred…hope you meet someone special that is better for you than I ever was…_

Arthur turned his back on Alfred, on America, and started to board.

"WAIT! WAIT!" Arthur stopped in his tracks, already halfway up the indoor terminal gangplank. Outside, there seemed to be a commotion.

"Sir, please, we are boarding, do you have a ticket…"

"Please, did Arthur Kirkland board this plane?"

"Sir that's confidential information…"

"So am I, now please, just answer my question, code 1776, Jamestown, whatever it was last. Please, I must see him!" Arthur was running back down the gangplank, his bag knocking against the walls as he ran, not caring for once how un-gentlemanlike he was acting.

He burst back through a crowd of people, looking desperately for that blond head. People around him were complaining all around him, and he didn't give any of them a second look, shoving them all aside. There, at the front desk, was Alfred, his hair wild, his clothes haphazardly thrown on, pleading with the flustered flight attendant.

"Alfred?" Baby blues spun at the sound of their name, and Alfred just stared at him. Arthur saw the sickly complexion, the bags under his eyes, the flushed cheeks, the look of relief…and the light that had been missing for a very long time from those eyes.

"Arthur…" One word, breathed out, slowly, passionately, so familiarly, Arthur dropped his bag, running for Alfred, who opened his arms, their bodies colliding into an embrace of passion, Arthur's face buried into Alfred's chest. The airport fell away, and it was the two of them, Alfred's hands on his back, holding him as if he never was going to let go. Arthur gripped Alfred's shirt, sobbing in a way, which if anyone else but Alfred had seen it, would have made him want to die from embarrassment.

"Alfred…Alfred, oh god, it's you, isn't it?" Arthur finally pulled away to see that Alfred had been crying as well.

"Yes, Arthur Kirkland, it is me, and me it shall always be." A hand ran down Arthur's face, and he leaned into it, loving the touch. Alfred's breath hitched.

"How could I ever have forgotten your beauty? How could I have ever wished this all away? I really am one stupid fool…" Alfred now turned his eyes downward. "To think, you heard what I had said yesterday, lies as blatant as Soviet propaganda. Oh Arthur, I loved you even yesterday, before I did something horrible…"

"Shh, luv, I really don't give two cents." Arthur put a finger to Alfred's mouth, only to have it be kissed gently by those same lips with showed such sadness. "I only care that you are here, my Alfred, my boy, my lover, my friend, my everything…I was going to walk away from all that…"

Lips crashed upon his, desperate and passionate, drawing a sigh from Arthur, who wrapped his arms around his American's neck. Somewhere in the background, he heard the check-in lady call for last boarding, but he didn't care anymore. He wasn't going home to England for a very long time.

Alfred felt his mind clear, his memories now restored, along with his love in his arms. As they pulled away to catch their breath, they both remembered they were in an airport, and that there were groups of teen-age girls watching them with interest, while the rest of the population averted their eyes. Laughing, Alfred wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist, picking his bag up with the other hand. Arthur smiled, and reached up to give Alfred another kiss, which was eagerly returned.

"Every night, I would feel you near me, Arthur. Your touch, your lips, but oh, how I've missed it."

"Oh, Alfred…" Arthur leaned his head on Alfred's shoulder.

"And then, the first time I realized I had fallen in love with you over again, was the day I met you, Canada day, when I heard you whisper in my ear that night…"

"What did I say?"

"Remember Me…"

They walked on, having nowhere in particular to go, not caring in the least, so long as they had each other.

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><p><strong>huff, huff, there you go! took me an hour of non stop writing! HAPPY CANADA DAY! LEAVING FOR VACATION TOMORROW. Can't think of a fun fact. you guys should review funfacts, and if any of you stump me, I'll post it in the next chapter! (which won't be out for a while)<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Ok, last chapter, and it is kinda short, kinda bad. Vacation was nice...for about five days...then the last two, I was banging my head against the wall, bored out of my mind, and read three books, 250 pages of small print GonewiththeWind, part of a horrible romance novel I found in a children's bookcase that my grandma had left. After a week of no yaoi, hetero sounded bettero than nothing, but my biggest complaint was that she didn't have a florida...**

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><p>They walked hand in hand on the sidewalk, heading back to the psychic shop to gather Alfred's things and thank the old woman for taking care of Alfred.<p>

"Did you love Sarah?" Arthur had some questions still on his mind, and while still feeling waves of joy flooding over him, found them tugging at his mind.

Alfred snorted, his eyes narrowing. "God no, I just couldn't…couldn't bare being alone anymore, knowing there was someone out there, someone to laugh with, someone to hold, someone to spend my life with, and I tried to force Sarah into that mold, even though I knew the whole time that I didn't love her, and she was in love with my body. When I…last night, when we…I only had thoughts for you…and now, now I'm so ashamed for what I've done, I can't…why do you still stand there…after all I've done to hurt you?"

Arthur watched the quick change from overjoyed relief to self-resentment and hate, watching his lover dim, and quickly squeezed his hand. "I forgave you the moment I heard your voice in the airport, I forgave you the night you told me about that wish, I would forgive you of anything, of everything, but there is no way I will ever leave your side again. Can you forgive me for giving up on you?"

Alfred looked down at his Brit, and smiled. "Arthur, I've nothing to forgive, I would have understood if you'd left me that day at the farmer's market, I just want you happy." He turned to look up at the sky, and his smile widened. "We need to dance more often, but I regret missing that kiss…"

"Well, bend down, you git, and I'll fix that!"

* * *

><p>As they entered the shop, they found Madame LaRose sitting behind the curtain.<p>

"Well, I see you have made up fine and dandy. Now, I need that room back if you don't mind, my granddaughter is coming for a visit, and I just might convince her to stay awhile." Alfred gave the woman a hug, and raced up the stairs, and Arthur thanked her over and over for what she'd done.

"Like I told Alfred, I was only repaying you for the help you gave me getting started all those years ago. And Charlotte will finally be at rest, just as soon as you do what you must with the journal."

They left with a bit of teary goodbyes, and Arthur's phone rang once they were back in Arthur's hastily abandoned hotel room.

Alfred picked it up from the table and read the caller ID. Matthew Williams. He smiled, and opened the phone.

"Arthur! Where are you? Your people say you've booked a flight for England, please, what's wrong? Is it Alfred?"

"Yes, this is Alfred. Matthew, bro, you need to cool your jets, Arthur isn't going nowhere. He's not leaving his hotel room, that's for sure." Arthur shot him a look, and caught the smug smile on Alfred's face.

"Al? AL! Oh My God! Alfred!"

"Mattie, no more maple coffee for you!" Alfred smiled as his brother started to ramble on and on over the phone before he heard people gathering around the line.

"Who is it, Birdie?"

"Mon Matthieu, to whom are you speaking?"

"Canada, is America-san on the phone?"

Alfred smiled, talking to most in turn, before finally hanging up at the look on Arthur's face as he sat down in the American's lap.

"My turn to greet you, luv."

Alfred was glad to be back.

* * *

><p>They buried the journal next to a soldier's grave, a Sgt. Stuart Milton, of the confederate army. There were no words left in it now, and the book had started to rapidly decay, but it was as if it were Charlotte's body finally being laid to rest next to the true love of her life, and Alfred smiled as he hugged Arthur close, breathing in the smell of grass after the rain and tea. She had made them infinitely closer, their fighting more of a discussion, their arguments full of sarcasm and laughter. And Alfred treasured every day of it.<p>

He'd been truly lucky to have found his way to the Psychic shop, and wondered if Charlotte had anything to do with it, and now he visited every time he was in New York.

They walked away from the battlefield hand in hand, towards a life Alfred would never wish away.

_Remember Me…_

Fin

* * *

><p><strong>END! Ok, thanks to: CherryFlamingo, CarolXchan, Death-Sama01, british-pudding, yoong, Hitsu4HinaEva -Hari-Sama, InsaneNicEly, HikariKegawaAshi, Alphine, Eternally1Yours, always-orange-and-blue...and everyone whose been reading, alerting, favoriting, reviewing or whatever else this story. it's sad to let these stories go, this being my second one to finish, but it is time to bury the hatchet.<strong>

**_Fun Fact_: Indian Tribes would bury a hatchet when two tribes would make peace from fighting.**

**_Fun Fact_ (submitted by InsaneNicEly): A typical pencil can write 45,000 words or draw a line 35 miles long.**

**_Fun Fact_ (submitted by Death-Sama01): Letter 'c' does not appear anywhere in the spellings (spelling each number)of the entire English counting.**

**_Fun Fact_ (submitted by CarolXchan): Shoe laces were invented in England in 1790.**

**THANKS FOR EVERYTHING AND STICKING WITH ME! LURVE YOU ALL! If you have any questions or simply want to say anything, just PM me! I have already posted my next story, an AU fic, the Lion and the Wizard, USUK, RUSCAN, so, I'll be busy. Bye Y'all!**


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